Tides of Turmoil
by Saysomething117
Summary: Post-Aliyah. When Ziva finds herself in a hospital with no recollection of who she is, she must struggle to uncover the past in order to determine her future. Eventual Tiva. NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I hold no claim to NCIS or any of the characters/actors involved. I'm just a poor college student with a hobby._

_Author's Note: While I highly doubt this is what'll actually happen post-Aliyah, it's an idea that stuck in my head and would not go away. I am most certainly not too proud to beg for reviews, so go ahead and leave them, whether you like the story or not. Leave lots of them. _

_Annnnnd on with the show…_

* * *

"-iss? Can you hear me? Miss?"

It wasn't the insistent voice that woke her, but the constant pulsing in her head. Lub dub. Lub dub. Lub dub. Pounding. Pulsing. Steady. Strong.

"There you go," the same nagging voice continued. "Almost there. Just open up those eyes for me."

Despite the part of her that wanted to keep them closed just so the voice would go away, her limbs were already beginning to tingle with the feelings of awareness. The scent of lemon cleaner and latex overwhelmed her senses as the same pulsing that awoke her began to radiate deep inside her. Her limbs were heavy, laden with an unknown burden as her eyes flickered open and closed, squinting as they adjusted to the harsh lighting.

Soon, her entire body began to ache, a dull sensation that quickly ascended to stabs and stings and burns. Crying out, she tried pulling herself into a ball, but the motion was too painful. She only managed another weak whimper before the voice came closer, injecting a milky fluid into one of the tubes connected to her hand.

"Just give it a minute, that'll help," the voice assured her, but she just clenched her eyes shut, waiting out the pain as a deeper, drowsy feeling began to take over.

"Okay, can you blink your eyes for me?"

She did.

"Alright, and wiggle your toes?"

That request was a little harder, but with a touch of effort, she was able to feel the cool air moving around her foot.

"Good, that's a great sign," the same voice continued, and she moved her eyes to the right, trying to focus them on the blurry figure beside her. "I'm Dr. Watson. You're at the hospital. Can you understand what I'm saying?"

Her eyebrows scrunched together, though the action made her forehead sting again. Slowly, her eyesight began to clear and she took in the man standing next to her--sandy brown hair, light eyes, tall, and in a lab coat.

She nodded once, trying to speak. Her tongue felt like carpet in her mouth and all she could manage was a small squeak before her voice cut out.

"Don't talk yet, here," the man said, grabbing a white cup from beside her and holding it in front of her. She instinctively pulled away until he continued, "It's just water. It'll help your throat."

He held the straw toward her once again and this time she accepted it, sucking down as much of the refreshing liquid as she could manage. After a moment, she pulled away, swallowing again and clearing her throat lightly. It was still sore, but manageable.

"Where am I?" she asked, wincing at the rasp in her voice.

"The rasp and sore throat are normal," he assured her. "Unfortunately we had to intubate, you weren't breathing on your own for a while. I imagine it feels a little funny to talk at the moment."

He offered her a smile and she could only nod. He was right; it did feel funny.

"And to answer your question, you're at a military hospital in Egypt," the man continued, still smiling at her. "You were airlifted here from Somalia. You're a Jane Doe to us. Can you tell me your name?"

She opened her mouth, but this time it wasn't dryness or pain that stopped her from speaking. She just… couldn't answer. Her name? What was her name?? It was such a simple question, but she just _couldn't_. She looked up at the man with wide, alarmed eyes, one of the machines next to her beeping faster as her heart rate began to climb.

"Alright, alright, just take a deep breath," the man said, stepping closer to her. "There's no need to panic. A little memory loss is completely normal, given what you've been through. I'm sure it'll come soon enough."

Taking several deep breaths, she forced herself to try and relax, listening to his words. What other choice did she really have? She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, however. Very wrong.

"How about we start somewhere else, hmm?" the man asked, catching her attention again. "I'm David Watson, a physician with the British army. Given your accent, I'm going to assume you're from the Middle East, though I'm not accustomed to the area enough to be more specific."

He gave her an apologetic grimace, but she didn't notice. At the mention of his name, the hair stood up on the back of her neck and butterflies settled in her stomach.

"Day-vid?" she said slowly, the pronunciation sitting oddly on her tongue.

He nodded. "Yes. Do you remember something? Someone named David?"

She tried to search her memory for something, anything, but once again she came up blank.

"No," she answered quietly. "Not David. David is wrong. It is something else…."

David smiled at her. "Don't try to force it. Your brain recognized something, that's a start. It'll come when it's ready."

She frowned, the hair still standing on her neck and spreading gooseflesh along the rest of her body. This was wrong. She wasn't safe like this. She couldn't even remember what she was supposed to be safe from, but she could tell that she wasn't.

"Why am I here?"

With a long sigh, David pulled the chair from beside her and sat, bringing himself level with her rather than looming over her.

"You were found unconscious outside a medical center in northern Somalia," David said, his voice quiet and solemn. "There was severe bruising and lacerations covering most of your body. You had several broken ribs, as well as a dislocated patella. Not to mention you were severely dehydrated and missing a great deal of blood. You're very lucky to be alive."

She realized that she should probably be horrified at his description of her condition, but she wasn't. She didn't feel anything. Just numb.

"The clinicians were able to stabilize you before you were transferred here," he continued before nodding to her arm, which she noticed was in a cast for the first time. "We set your wrist as well as the ribs and kneecap. Some of the deeper lacerations needed to be sutured, but luckily there was no internal bleeding or hemorrhaging. The facial swelling and bruising is superficial. You had a mild concussion which can account for the memory loss, but now that you're conscious again, there's no reason you shouldn't make a full recovery."

Still, she felt little emotion at his descriptions. In her mind, she recognized the signs of someone who was quite nearly beaten to death, and in this case, 'someone' meant her. Yet still, she couldn't come up with a why, or a name. _Her_ name. And if she was honest, that bothered her more than learning how badly she was injured. It bothered her almost as much as the feeling of unease that she couldn't seem to shake. Slowly, almost instinctively, her hand went to her hip, feeling for something that wasn't there.

"Is something wrong?" the doctor asked, noticing her odd movement and scrunched facial expression.

"No. Yes. I… do not know." She shook her head a few times, trying to clear it. "I feel as if I am… missing something."

David watched her for a moment before shaking his head. "You weren't brought in with anything. I can check with the clinic in Somalia to see if anything was left there, but I wouldn't bet on it."

She considered his offer but shook her head once again. "No. It is not there, either."

Once again, David offered her his smile, full of acceptance. "As I said, it'll come. For now, you're safe and we will try to make you as comfortable as possible."

She wanted to question about her current safety, but a large yawn erupted from within her causing David to laugh and her to blush.

"I am sorry," she began, but David cut her off.

"No, it is my fault," he said, chuckling. "The pain killers should knock you out for a few hours. When you wake, if you press the red button, one of the nurses can help you, or you can ask them to page me."

Looking down, she noticed the little red button of the side of her bed and nodded, yawning again as the doctor began making a few notes on his clipboard and gathering his stuff.

"Thank you," she mumbled, hardly hearing his reply as her eyes flickered shut. Drowsiness slowly drifted over her, submerging her in a slumber that was full of fleeting images and feelings, all linked by the lingering concern that she was _not_ safe here. She needed to get home, and soon. If only she could remember exactly where home happened to be....


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: NCIS still isn't mine. Damn...._

_Author's Note: Wow, thank you guys for the great reception. You reviews make me smile. :]_

_I know where this story is going and a lot of what is going to happen along the way, but if there's anything you really want to see, feel free to drop me a suggestion. Who knows? Perhaps it'll be something that's already planned._

_Also, I've decided to divide this story into two, both because of the way the story splits and because two shorter stories are easier to finish than one long, drawn-out beast of a fanfic. So 'Tides of Turmoil' will be the first half, and the second will be 'Waves of Clarity.'_

_Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts and enjoy the ride!  
_

* * *

_'I'd wish you luck, but I want the bastard dead, too….'_

'_You killed your brother… to save me.'_

'_I'm pregnant. McGee's going to be very proud.'_

'…_You loved him.'_

_'Make this your aliyah!'_

'_Take care of yourself….'_

Gasping, she was startled awake, her eyes flying open. She tried to recall what woke her, but the fleeting memories were already beginning to clear away as if someone were sweeping cobwebs from her mind. They were preciously constructed, delicate, and all too easily brushed away.

"No," she cried quietly, bringing her hands up to her face and pressing them into her forehead. Her wrist and battered hands protested the movement, but she ignored them.

By the time her conscious was fully awake, her dreams left nothing but a sense of déjà vu--something there, but untouchable. She sighed, dropping her hands before she finally caught sight of them and took the time to look.

They didn't look like her hands.

They didn't really look like hands at all.

Her fingers were swollen and bruised, tiny cuts marring the skin up and down her wrists. Her right arm was encased in white plaster, but her left arm was another myriad of blues, deep purples and reds. A long slice followed from her inner forearm to her elbow, stitched together with diagonal black sutures. She couldn't help but wonder what the rest of her looked like.

Reaching over, she pressed the little red button on the side of her bed, hearing a quiet 'ding' down the hall. Relaxing her neck, she let her head rest back on the bed, waiting.

"You are awake," came a woman's voice, not more than a minute later. She turned, seeing a portly, dark-skinned woman smiling at her from the doorway.

"I am Kima," the woman greeted, stepping into the room. "Dr. Watson say that you might call for him. Or is there something I can do, miss?"

It was obvious to her that Kima was not a native speaker of English, but the woman carried a sense of warmth around her that made her seem almost familiar, motherly.

"No, I do not need Dr. Watson," she replied, not wanting to bother the physician even though she would gladly welcome any familiar face. "I was just wondering… Perhaps there is a mirror I can use?"

For a moment, she wondered if Kima was going to try and convince her that looking at herself would be a bad idea. Instead, the woman simply watched her for a moment before nodding, gesturing toward a door a few feet from the end of her bed.

"There is a washroom here," she said. "It be good to get out of bed if you feel up to it, miss. The doctor be bringing your prescriptions soon. Now be a good time."

She nodded. She wished there was something she could tell the nurse to call her other than 'miss,' but there wasn't. What could they call her? Jane Doe? Isn't that what David called her earlier? _'You're a Jane Doe to us.' _Somehow she was sure that wasn't her name, however, which meant that 'miss' would have to be acceptable for now.

Kima stepped closer to her, lowering one of the bars on the side of the bed. Carefully pushing herself up on her good wrist, she lifted the blanket, sliding her legs off the side of the bed and noting that one of her knees was in a large black brace. Kima placed an arm under her shoulder, careful of her bandaged ribs as they got her to her feet. She swayed for a moment, her weight unsteady on her legs as she regained her balance.

After a moment she was able to walk, slowly making the three foot journey between the edge of her bed and the bathroom door.

Kima stopped her just as they reached the door, letting her adjust to supporting herself.

"There be a saying," she said. "'We water the thorns for the sake of the rose.' I be here if you need me, miss."

She nodded, blinking a few times to avoid showing how much the words affected her. She knew that whatever she saw was probably not going to be encouraging. It terrified her, in fact, that she might not even be able to recognize herself in the mirror. Yet still, she had to know.

Leaning against the sink for support, she stepped toward the mirror. Slowly, unsurely, her eyes came up from the white ceramic to the reflective glass, taking in her appearance.

A sense of recognition settled on her as she gazed at her features, but the odd marring of her golden skin set shivers down her spine. Hearing Dr. Watson list her injuries had not bothered her, but seeing them--starring at them--made them real in a way that words could not.

The ratted hair and unhealthy pallor did not surprise her. Nor did the swollen cheek or split lip. The eyes that stared back, however, full of shadows and aged beyond their time were startlingly familiar. They were dead, cold to the world. But as she stared into the dark orbs, there was nothing more feeling than the pools of emotion whirling there. Desperation. Hope. Vulnerability.

Her.

_A tall, handsome man stood between two desks, fists on his hips and holding his suit jacket open. Another slightly larger man stood off to the side, watching the first man with barely veiled amusement._

'_As hard as she can?' he asked, skeptical._

'_As hard as _you_ can,' the first replied, not missing a beat. _

'_You know... that's how Houdini died.' _

_The first man turned to her, an almost patronizing look on his face. 'Ziva, did you kill Houdini?'_

'_It is possible,' she replied nonchalantly. 'I do not remember all their names.'_

A startled cry ripped from her throat as she doubled over, her hands flying up to her head and holding tightly.

_She watched confused as the same pudgy man poured lettered tiles into her desk drawer, frantically stuffing a Scrabble board into the empty space._

'_Uh… that was a, uh… language exercise, boss!' he hastened to explain. 'We weren't actually playing.'_

'_So McGee didn't actually lose,' the other man replied, rolling his eyes._

'_Correct!' _

_The older, silver haired man smirked, grabbing his bag and walking in the other direction. 'So, he's not actually humiliated.'_

_She and the taller man laughed, the other trailing behind them, shaking his head._

'_Qi…."_

"Ah!" she gasped, snapping back to reality as her legs gave way. The pain shot through her head in erratic spikes as Kima rushed into the room.

"Come on, miss," Kima urged, leading her as she continued to gasp in pain. As soon as she was back on the bed she curled up, clutching her head and pulling into herself as tight as she could.

"I go get the doctor," the older woman said, leaving the room in a hurry.

_A light haired man sat before, watching her with sympathetic eyes._

'_Ziva… that's your home.'_

_She watched him unflinchingly, her face blank and empty of emotion. 'No it's not.'_

_She stood outside a large, light colored building, catching sight of a familiar face in the glass' reflection._

'_I had no choice,' he said as she turned to face him._

'_That's a lie,' she snapped, stepping in his direction._

'_Why would I lie to you, Ziva?'  
_

Her focus shifted back to the present as Dr. Watson stood over her, his brow creased in worry as he checked her vitals, trying to get her attention.

"What's wrong?" he asked, flashing a light into her eyes. "Are you in pain?"

She whimpered, fighting as he tried to keep her hands from clutching her head again. "My name!" she gasped, caught between the pain and the rushing sound in her head.

'_You told Michael to stay with me in D.C.,' she said, angry. 'Why?'_

'_That is none of your concern,' the man replied, adjusting the cuffs of his light tan suit._

'_I have made it my concern!' she exclaimed, stepping forward to lean over the well-crafted wooden desk._

_The man eyed her. 'Do not question me, Ziva,'  
_

"Do you remember something?" David asked urgently. "Your name?"

"My name…" she said, trying to draw air into her tightened lungs with little success.

_She pulled back as the grey haired man leaned closer, relenting as he swooped closer, placing a light kiss on her cheek._

_He stepped back and she stared, her eyes asking him everything she could not voice._

'_Take care of yourself,' he said, giving her one last glance before he turned, heading toward the plane. Something deep inside her tightened and strangled as he walked away, but her face held strong, watching them take off with detached stoicism.  
_

Her chest began to tighten just as it had on the tarmac, a deep-seated pain taking hold just between her ribs.

"Ziva," she gasped, moving her hands to her chest as the feeling there overrode the throbbing in her head. The machine next to her beeped dangerously fast, it's rapid tempo only feeding her growing lack of control.

"Get me a sedative before she goes into shock," Dr. Watson ordered Kima, who promptly nodded and rushed from the room.

She latched onto David's arm as it came into her view, the doctor trying to keep her steady as her entire body flinched. Holding his wrist tightly, she watched him, torn between the hospital room as the onslaught of images flying through her head.

"Ziva?" he asked, catching her attention again. "Ziva? Is that your name?"

"Yes!" she cried out as Kima came back into view, immediately aware as soon as he repeated the word that it was in fact her name. David promptly took the syringe and stuck it in her arm, the fluid pushing into her muscle like thick molasses. Almost immediately the machine next to her began to slow its beeping and her eyelids fluttered open and closed.

"Relax, Ziva," David ordered as her body began to droop. She clenched her fists, fighting against the drugs as her muscles weakened. Stubbornly, she fought against the pull to sleep, desperate to keep the memories alive. She whimpered slightly, realizing her struggles were useless as David and Kima's faces began to blur before her eyes.

"My name," she whispered, blinking her eyelids for the last time as they finally gave in and stayed shut. "Ziva…."


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: NCIS is still owned by people way cooler and richer than me._

_Okay, so for those of you who like action and a quick-moving plot, this chapter probably won't be your favorite. For those of you interested in subtleties and character development, this will be right up your alley._

_Also, because I cannot make up my mind, I will present the issue to my lovely readers. It has to do with how NCIS deals with their missing agent. I can either post this story entirely in Ziva's POV as originally planned and tell their side of the story as Ziva learns it, or you guys can get an extra-long one-chapter special on what's going down at NCIS. It's up to you guys. Let me know._

_And, ACTION!  


* * *

  
_The next time she awoke, it was slow process. Her toes curled and her arms pulled closer to her body as she shivered. A warm, rich scent filled the room and helped pull her over the threshold into consciousness. After a moment her eyes blinked open, locking onto the sight of Dr. Watson standing over her bed, checking his notes and adjusting the machines.

"You're awake," he said, setting down his clipboard and offering her a smile. He wasn't in his usual scrubs and lab coat, but cargo pants and a cotton shirt, sidearm attached securely at his hip. She remembered his statement about this being a military physician as she eyed the black weapon before flicking her gaze up to him.

"Good… morning?" she asked tentatively, aware that it was light in the room once again, but she was unsure how long she'd been asleep.

He chuckled. "Yes, good morning. You slept through the night, which isn't unexpected considering you got your heart so worked up last night. Do you remember what happened?"

She paused for a moment before nodding. Yes, she remembered the splitting pain and flashes of memories, but they were foggy now, almost dream-like. She struggled to remember the details, but one thing in particular caught her attention.

"Ziva…" she said slowly. "That is my name, yes?"

"Is it?" David asked in response. "That's what you told us last evening."

"Yes," she said, more assured as she repeated the name in her head. _Ziva._ It wasn't really something she could remember, it was mostly just something she _knew_. How many people ever had to question their name? It's such a vital part of a person that it relied more on a sense of identity than memory itself.

"Do you remember anything else?"

Her brow creased, trying to recall anything specific. She could recall her time inside the hospital room vividly--as if she could draw it with startling accuracy, but beyond that….

"No," she said finally, shaking her head. "Just… sensation, mostly. The sound of a voice, perhaps, but nothing more."

She let out a sigh, turning her head.

"Oi," David said, catching her attention. "Don't get discouraged. You have a name now. That's a start."

She nodded, but still wouldn't meet his eye.

His hand touched her arm, and she stiffened, suddenly torn between the instinct to remove it swiftly and permanently, and shocked that her first reaction would be so violent.

David must have noticed her reaction, because he pulled back and kept his hands at his sides as he spoke again. "You had some rather worrying head injuries when you first got here, and given the condition the rest of your body was in, I would not be the least bit surprised if your mind was locking your memories away to protect itself."

"I am not crazy," she replied immediately, snapping her eyes to him.

"I never said you were," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "But those type of defense mechanisms are there for a reason. I've treated plenty of trauma patients over the years, and I have to say, your reactions have been far from crazy. They're bloody calm, if you ask me."

Ziva frowned. She didn't like the idea that her own brain would betray her by locking away her past. Already she had named the fluttering in her stomach as vulnerability, having no idea who she was or where she came from. She didn't like the feeling, and particularly not the weakness that accompanied it.

"I, uh, took the liberty to get a copy of this for you," David said, clearing his throat and effectively ending the silence that had settled in the room as he handed her a small packet of papers.

She accepted it, reading the title and raising her eyebrows to David. "'Most Common Israeli Surnames?'"

He shrugged, smiling. "Well, Ziva is a Hebrew name. And your nurse, Kima, said your accent is Israeli, although it's weakened, like you've been living elsewhere for some period of time. I thought perhaps you might recognize something."

She nodded, looking back at the papers. Israeli. Was that what she was? She wasn't entirely sure. It didn't sound wrong, at least, but not quite right either. Maybe she _had_ been living somewhere else--somewhere else that she considered home.

David let her peruse the list while he went back to work, checking IV lines and changing orders.

"Cohen, Levi, Mizrachi," Ziva said outloud, the Hebrew pronunciations rolling off her tongue as she read the first few names. She looked to David. "Perhaps Kima was right. Though these are not my name."

The doctor chuckled. "Keep looking."

So she did. Every couple of names, one would make her stomach would flutter, as if she knew the name had some connection to her life that she couldn't place. Yet still, nothing truly fit.

"Malcah… Katz…" she continued. "David…."

The name rolled off her tongue in perfect Hebrew. Her eyes flicked to the next name before her brain jolted to attention and alerted her to the discrepancy. She stared at the name, trying to figure out why she would pronounce it differently.

"Day-vid," she said slowly, drawing out the syllables in an English pronunciation.

"Yes, Ziva?" the doctor asked, looking up from his notes at the foot of her bed.

"No, no," she said quickly, shaking her head. "Not Day-vid. _Dah-veed_."

"Dah-veed?"

"Yes, Dah-veed," she replied. Her brain made the weak connections to her past and the few memories she could account for, causing her jaw to drop slightly. "That is why Day-vid sounded wrong!" she said, remembering her first reactions to Dr. Watson's name. "It's not Day-vid, it is Dah-veed. Ziva David."

"You're certain?"

"Yes," she affirmed, staring at the paper intently.

"Well, Ms. Ziva David," David said, smiling at her and pronouncing her name correctly, "I'll be sure to get the word out to Interpol for missing persons."

Ziva smiled, her lips curling up. "Thank you," she said softly. It was hard to describe the sense of identity that enveloped her, but it made her feel a little more at ease. She wasn't just anyone anymore. She was Ziva David, whoever that happened to be.

"Oh, before I leave," David said, stepping around to the other side of the room and picking up a covered tray. "You missed breakfast, but I brought you a tray. Now that you're conscious, we need to get you back on solid food."

She was suddenly hyper-aware of the rich aroma that had helped wake her. She sat up slightly, mouth watering and stomach gurgling as Dr. Watson arranged the sliding table and set her tray on it. She had not realized how hungry she was before the mention of food, but now she felt ravenous as David lifted the lid, revealing a cup of what looked like beef broth and a small chunk of bread.

Ziva stared blankly at the tray. She felt like she could eat a five course meal without leaving a crumb to spare and they were serving her broth and bread?

"You are worried about refeeding syndrome?" she asked, looking at the meager portions on the tray and missing the look of surprise that flashed across Dr. Watson's face.

"You've been on intravenous nutrition since you've been here," he began slowly, "but we don't know how long it's been since your body has had solid food. Refeeding syndrome is not a major concern, but too much too quickly could make you sick."

"Oh."

"How do you know about refeeding syndrome?" David asked, brow furrowed. "It's not exactly a common concern."

Ziva's head jerked to look at him. "I… do not know."

She hadn't given it a second thought when she noticed the food on the plate. She couldn't remember the last time she ate, so when her doctor served her a meal low in carbohydrates and fat, she immediately assumed refeeding syndrome. They didn't want her to get sick because her body wasn't used to proper nutrition. It felt like common sense to her.

"Yes, well," David said, giving her a tight smile. "I think you'll be plenty full if you can manage to finish that. Eat slowly. I will be back in a few hours after I've done my rounds."

Ziva nodded, watching as Dr. Watson took his leave. Her eyes flicked back to his waist as he left, his right hand resting comfortably on the butt of his sidearm--the sign of a man who was well acquainted with the need for a quick draw and the safety of his weapon, and she could not understand the longing sense of nostalgia that enveloped her at the sight.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: NCIS is not mine. *sigh*_

_Author's Note: Okay, I've rewritten this chapter three times and cut it into two pieces, hence the wait. I was going to give you everything up until the point where I put in the scene from NCIS (yes, you will get one, but not with as many answers as I originally planned), but it was wayyyy too long. As it is, I managed to move things around enough to split it into two, so here you go._

_And I promise to explain why Dr. Watson does what he does.... Don't get all up in arms about it. (Hah. I laugh at my own unintentional pun. You will understand once you read.)_

_*God, I'm so lame...*  
_

_Also, 29 reviews for 3 chapters? You guys are great. Think we can hit 40 for 4??? ^_^  


* * *

  
_True to Dr. Watson's words, the meal did fill Ziva until she felt she could not eat another bite. Combining with her medications, the warmth and comfort of a full stomach lulled her into a light slumber as she dozed off and on for the better part of the afternoon. She awoke just as the sun was beginning to set, opening her eyes to find Kima changing one of her IV bags.

"Hello," Ziva greeted quietly, earning a small smile from the other woman.

"Shalom," the woman returned. "Dr. Watson say you remember your name. That is good."

"Shalom…" Ziva replied, fascinated that she immediately recognized its meaning. And given the way Kima's accent butchered the word, she knew that the woman used it simply because she was the one who realized that Ziva was Israeli. "And yes. Please, call me Ziva."

"Certainly, Miss Ziva."

Ziva smiled, not having the heart to correct her again. The nurse finished adjusting and changing her IV lines and removed her food tray from the room. She came back a minute later, her arms full of fresh white hospital sheets and a set of light tan scrubs.

Ziva had too many wounds to take a shower yet, but Kima helped her into the bathroom to clean and wash her hair in a small plastic bucket. Having to account for every wound as it was avoided or carefully cleaned put a frown on her face, but she couldn't deny the fact that she felt much better after freshening up.

"Come on, miss," Kima said after they carefully got her dressed in the scrubs, which was not an easy task considering the casts and bandages all over Ziva's body. "You sit in the chair and let Kima make your sheets."

Ziva nodded, allowing Kima to put her arm around her waist, helping support her as they made their way out of the bathroom, settling Ziva into the chair beside her bed. She didn't like the fact that she already felt tired and worn out. The simple act of cleaning herself shouldn't be so strenuous. It made her feel weak, useless.

"You be good for this old heart, miss," Kima said idly, pulling the dirty sheets from Ziva's bed.

Ziva watched her in confusion. What could she possibly have done for this woman, who had so far done everything for _her_?

"When you come here," Kima continued, stretching a clean sheet across the bed, "you were standing in his shadow. No one think you make it a day. But you hold on. You spit in his face to be here for something."

"Whose face?"

"Death's," Kima said simply. "Something special keep you from him, Miss Ziva. Someone special."

Ziva scoffed, torn between wanting to believe her and not even chancing it. Could she have someone out there waiting for her? Was someone searching day and night, wondering what could have happened to her while she couldn't even remember them? "I do not think so."

"Wait," Kima replied, fluffing the pillows as she finished turning down the bed, lifting her head to smile at Ziva. "You see."

Ziva didn't reply. She let Kima help her back into bed, quickly settling into the clean new sheets. No sooner had Kima began to gather the dirty linens that Dr. Watson strode into the room.

"Oi, fresh sheets," he said, grinning at the pair of them. "When can I get you to come by my flat and change the sheets, Kima?"

He winked at the older nurse, who rolled her eyes, arms full of linens.

"When you give Kima a raise," she mumbled under her breath, though her lips were turned up, causing both Dr. Watson and Ziva to laugh.

"That bird is one of the best damn nurses I've ever met," David said as Kima left.

"She's very nice," Ziva replied.

"Yes, she is," he said, checking his clipboard quickly before setting it down. "I just stopped by to check in before I head out for the evening. How are you?"

"I am fine."

"No pain? New memories?"

Ziva shook her head. "I am stiff, but that is all. And I do not remember anything else."

David nodded. "Don't let it worry you, you're doing great. The physical therapist will be down tomorrow to get you moving properly again and hopefully Interpol will turn up with something in a couple of days and we can get you back to your life. Alright?"

"Yes," Ziva replied. "Thank you."

"Not a problem," he said, looking down and signing his name quickly on her chart before placing it on the end of the bed. He stood, one hand rest against his thigh, the other atop his weapon, offering her his goodbyes.

Ziva heard his goodbye and nodded her own, but her focus was once again on David's hip. A Browning nine-millimeter automatic. She recognized the make and model immediately this time, though the revelation was of little value to her at the moment. David turned to leave, his weapon facing her as he approached the door of her room, startling her into action.

"May I see your sidearm?" she asked suddenly, eyes widening in surprise that she had actually voiced the question on the tip of her tongue. David turned sharply on his heel and she immediately backtracked her statement. "I am sorry, that was inappropriate."

She kept her eyes on her hands, though she could feel Dr. Watson's heavy stare on her shoulders. The embarrassment of her outburst created knots in her stomach, but she was able to keep her face from flaring. She did not need to show anymore uncontrollable reactions in front of him now.

Expecting him to rebuke her and leave, she looked up when she heard the click of the door. He hadn't left; David was now standing behind the closed door with an odd look on his face that she couldn't quite decipher.

He pulled the blinds shut over the window, leaving them in total privacy. David--a member of the British Army--whom she'd just asked to see his gun. For the first time in his presence, a sense of unease settled in her, prompting her to push up into more of a sitting position, not that her bandages and injuries would allow her to try and defend herself. She didn't think Dr. Watson would attack her, but then again, she didn't really know him. Did she?

"Why do you ask that, Ziva?" he asked, that same slightly furrowed expression on his face.

"I-I am not sure," she said, tripping over her words and internally cursing herself for looking weak.

"Do you remember something?" he asked again, stepping closer.

"I am not sure," she repeated, slower, but keeping her voice under control.

He paused at her bed, watching her for a long moment. This time, she didn't look away and met his gaze warily, her entire body tensed.

"I am sorry," she tried again, though his gaze didn't break.

His hand moved to his sidearm, removing it from it's holster so the barrel sat in his hand, the handle pointed up.

"I could be discharged for this," he said, raising his eyebrows to her and moving it toward her, inch by inch.

"Then don't do it," she returned.

"Are you going to fire it?" he asked, pausing the movement of his hand for a fraction of a second.

Her gazed jerked up toward his, surprised. "No."

Now, the black weapon was only inches from her grasp in an obvious offer for her to take it.

Frowning in a moment of indecision, she picked up the weapon with her left hand. It's weight rested comfortably in her palm, the feeling odd but not wholly unfamiliar. Perhaps she wasn't left handed?

"Maybe I should eject the mag," he said, grimacing a bit and reaching for the weapon.

Before he could cross the short distance to take it back from her, Ziva pressed the catch assembly, causing the magazine to fall to her lap and pulling the slide to remove the last bullet from the firing chamber.

David froze, his hand still outstretched as Ziva focused solely on the black weapon in her hands.

'_You play charades on Saturday nights?'_ _she asked, calling his bluff._

'_To kill time before I go clubbing,' the man replied before turning serious. 'Who are you?'_

'_Ziva David. Mossad.' _

'_You're Israeli?'_

'_Very good, the way you made that connection. Mossad-Israeli.'_

Ziva sucked in a quick breath, blinking her eyes and focusing them back on Dr. Watson as he carefully pried the black metal from her unmoving hands. "Sorry?"

"Are you okay?" he asked, reassembling his gun and slipping it into the holster.

Ziva nodded, the scene playing in her mind again. She licked her lips, moistening them in preparation to ask her next question. "What is Mossad?"

"What did you say?"

Ziva paused torn between repeating the question and brushing it off. In the end, her curiosity won out. "Mossad?"

David's voice betrayed his disbelief when he replied, "Mossad is the Israeli intelligence agency. Are you familiar with it?"

"I think I am part of it," she said slowly, turning the idea over in her head.

David blinked at her several times before she noticed his silence.

"Is that bad?" she asked him, eyes wide.

His head slowly turned from side to side. "Surprising, is all. Are you sure you're Mossad?"

Ziva let out a soft laugh. "I am not sure of much," she replied. "But I think so, yes."

In fact, she was much less sure of this than anything else she had remembered until that point, despite the clarity of the memory.

"Well, then," David said, offering her a small smile once again. "I'll let Interpol know. Finding records of an intelligence officer should be much easier than an international civilian."

Ziva smiled back at him, though it was tight--just a simple upturn of her lips. She knew how to disassemble a gun with little conscious thought and was quite possibly an intelligence officer for a federal agency. Being an officer would require knowledge of guns and she couldn't deny how at home Dr. Watson's sidearm had felt in her hand. Not perfect, exactly, though she rationalized that her right hand was encased in plaster, where she would normally hold a weapon. But upon reflection.... For that one moment, the quiet unease that had left an empty feeling somewhere below her navel had disappeared. She felt safe. She felt strong, even though she could barely walk.

The sound of the blinds being pulled up caught her attention, as David stood in the doorway once again. "Well, if there's nothing else, Miss David, I'll see you tomorrow?"

Ziva nodded. "Yes."

"And about my sidearm…."

She caught on to his hesitance quickly. "What sidearm?"

He smiled. "Have a good evening."

"You, too," she replied, resting her head against the bed as he left. As she tried to fall asleep, her fingers still tingling with the weight of the weapon, she couldn't help but wonder:

Just who the hell was she?


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: If NCIS were mine, Tony and Ziva would have gotten together long ago and Eli David would not be such a prick. Alas…._

_Author's Note: I'm SO sorry for the wait, guys. I went out of state to visit some of my very close, long-distance writing friends, had a few major projects due, and of course, had to go see the HP6 premier last night. But the next chapter is now here, and 'Control' should be updated this week, as well. Yayyy!_

_And OMG, the reviews for this story make me so happy! You guys are AMAZING. Thank you so much to every one of you who takes the time to review. I've written stories for much larger fandoms that have not gotten this kind of appreciation. You have no idea how much it makes me want to pound out the next chapter when I read them. Would you guys like me to respond to them? Normally I wouldn't ask, but I know sends responses as PMs, so I thought I'd asked. Either way, plz, PLZ keep them coming! _

_And just keep in mind, this IS a Tiva story, not Ziva/OC. Just a reminder. The next chapter will be the NCIS POV interlude, as well._

_Oh, and I have absolutely no qualms about leaving you with the end of this chapter and making you wait for the answers. *cackles madly* _

_Have a good read…._

_

* * *

  
_Ziva took a deep breath, forcing her voice to stay calm as she stared down the blonde nurse who stood in her doorway.

"I do not care about your protocol," she said scathingly. "I have been in this room for four days. Four days! _Do you have any idea how long that is?_"

The young nurse looked terrified.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," she said, "but the doctor has ordered you to be on bed rest with the exception of your physical therapy!"

"Do not call me ma'am!'" she snapped, resisting the urge to bodily remove the younger woman from her path.

Two long days had passed since Ziva's memory about Mossad. She had started her physical therapy and her bulky, heavy knee brace had been removed in favor of an ace bandage. Her pain medications switched from the lovely intravenous opiates that knocked her out for several hours to a few pills of Tylenol-3 that barely took the edge off. The food she was given had graduated from broth to mashed potatoes to her most recent meal, macaroni and cheese. Her hips were achy from the constant pressure of laying in her hospital bed and she wanted to take a real, honest to God shower. She was hungry and sore, her new pain meds left her feeling drowsy, and the odd feeling of being complacent was driving her insane.

All in all, Ziva David was very short on patience.

The blonde nurse had not yet moved and Ziva opened her mouth to speak again when another voice cut in before her.

"Is there a problem here?" David asked, coming to step between them.

"Yes," Ziva said.

"No," the nurse replied meekly.

Dr. Watson raised his eyebrows, looking between the two of them expectantly.

Ziva broke the silence first. "I would like to go for a walk. I did not know I was being held prisoner."

"You're not a prisoner, Ziva," David replied, frowning at her.

"Then why I am not allowed to leave this room?"

"Her orders are for bed rest, Dr. Watson, sir!" the nurse said defensively. "You wrote the orders yourself!"

David turned to the nurse, putting up a hand to signal her to stop. "Yes, I did," he said, earning a glare from Ziva, which he chose to ignore, "but a little exercise will not harm Ziva if she is feeling up to it."

"I am."

David smiled at her before turning back to the nurse. "Then I think we're settled here, Janet. I just clocked out, I will accompany Ziva on her walk. You are free to return to your duties."

"Yes, Dr. Watson," the woman, Janet, replied quietly before returning to the nurse's station. Ziva smirked, pleased with her small victory before turning back to Dr. Watson.

"What?" she asked, seeing his twisted expression.

"I know Kima is home today, but you could please refrain from terrorizing my other nurses?" he asked, lips turned up in amusement as they began a slow walk down the hallway.

"Perhaps," Ziva replied, watching to keep her weight gentle on her leg. "If they are not all as annoying."

David laughed. "Ziva, she was only trying to look out for you."

"I can look out for myself."

"So bloody stubborn," David admonished, clicking his tongue at her.

Ziva shrugged. "I am fine."

David stopped her by putting a hand on her shoulder. "Ziva, it's clear you went through hell before you got here. No one expects you to be fine."

"But I am."

He sighed. "Ziva…."

She looked up at him, eyes narrowed and accusing. "What?!" she asked, biting out the word. "I can walk, I can feed and clean myself. My bruises are healing and I am no longer in constant pain. Yes, I went through something traumatic, but I cannot even remember it, so why would I not be fine?!"

David put his hands up in surrender as her voice escalated to a yell. "I'm not saying you're incapable, Ziva. I'm just saying that you're still healing, and it's okay if you're not up to speed yet."

"No, it is not okay," she said. "I should not be here."

"What do you mean?"

She huffed. "Here!" she said, gesturing with her arms around her. "In a hospital, in Egypt! It's not safe, I should not be here!"

"You're on the British military base, surrounded by soldiers," David said, furrowing his brow. "There are few safer places on this continent."

Ziva clenched her fists, eyes focused away on the blue checked pattern on the wallpaper. "It does not matter. They cannot protect me."

She flinched as David's hand came up to touch her jaw, gently drawing her gaze back to him. "Ziva, do you remember something?" he asked. "Someone, perhaps? Is someone after you?"

"No," she replied, pausing before she shook her head. "Yes. Maybe. I do not know."

David frowned, his fingers moving from her jaw to cup her cheek. "Ziva, you're safe here. I promise."

She looked into his eyes, the Alice blue irises flecked with grey that watched her with such open concern and she couldn't find it in her to refute his pledge.

"I promise you," he said again.

Ziva continued to watch him, wanting desperately to tell him that he couldn't stop it--that what was coming, whatever it was, would only go through him to get her. She wanted to tell him not to make promises he couldn't keep. Instead, she kept her dubious unease to herself and nodded, pulling up her lips in a make-shift smile that he returned before dropping his hand and continuing their walk.

They spoke about inane topics on the way back to her room: the weather, her physical therapy, whether or not the hospital's meatloaf could actually be considered a 'meat' product. By the time she was back in her bed, she was tired once again but thankful for the exercise.

"I'm off tomorrow, but I'll stop in to check on you," David said, leaning on the doorway as he watched her settle herself.

"You do not have to do that," Ziva said, not understanding why he would want to come into the hospital on his day off. She was fine, there was no need for him to check on her.

"But I want to," he replied softly. "And I'll be here sooner if Interpol gets back to me before then. It should be any day now."

Ziva frowned at him, confused at his concerned but touched by it. The knot of tension in her stomach relaxed a little at his words. "Thank you."

"Bevakasha."

Ziva cocked her head, surprised. "Hebrew? I did not know you spoke Hebrew."

He had the grace to look sheepish. "I looked up a phrase or two on the internet. Kima just beat me to it with 'shalom.'"

Ziva laughed, turning to the nightstand to grab her glass of water. "How thoughtful of you." She could almost picture his smile despite the fact that her back was turned.

"Laila tov, ya'fa," he voice said softly and Ziva started, jerking his gaze back to him, but he was already gone. She could hear this steady footsteps down the hallway and she stared at the door in surprise.

Ya'fa. Beautiful. _Good night, beautiful._

He thought she was beautiful?

With her many stitches, scratches, and bruises that were fading to very unflattering shades of yellow and brown? He thought she was beautiful with her too big hospital scrubs and untamed hair?

He thought she was beautiful….

She fell asleep that evening with a smile on her face, forcing the other, unpleasant feelings away from her heart. Her memory was still mostly blank. There was no reason for her to feel guilty when a nice man called her beautiful. No reason at all. Right? Right.

* * *

Ziva knew it was Dr. Watson before she even opened her eyes. His familiar footsteps on the linoleum floor woke her, pulling her from a deep sleep as she slowly blinked her eyes open to find him standing at the edge of her bed.

"Hi," he said, smiling tightly. He reached down to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear and this time, she didn't flinch at his touch.

"Hello," she replied, sitting up. Her eyes struggled to focus in the darkness of the room. "What time is it?"

"Late, just past eleven, I think."

"Then why are you here?" she asked.

"I told you I would come back if I heard from Interpol," he replied simply.

Ziva pushed herself up straighter, her wrist only protesting minimally at the effort. "You heard something then, yes?"

David nodded, but he wouldn't meet her eye. "Ziva, I…."

She frowned as his voice trailed off. He opened and closed his mouth several times, clearly unsure of what to say and she couldn't hold back from joking, "you are not here to arrest me, no? I'm not wanted for murder or anything, am I?"

David blinked. "No. Of course not."

His serious tone made Ziva's light attitude disappear. "Then what is it?"

Sighing, David pulled over the chair next to her bed, sitting down and resting his forearms on his knees to lean closer.

"Are you sure about your memories of Mossad?" he asked. "You're sure your name is Ziva?"

Ziva stared at him. She had very few clear memories, but of those two things, she was absolutely certain. "Yes."

David didn't respond.

"David," she said, reaching to place her hand on top of his where it rested near her bed. "What is it?"

He watched her hand on top of his, using his other hand to mindlessly trace the lines and contours of her fingers. "Ziva, Interpol has checked the databases for Israel and every other major Middle Eastern country. There was a message on my phone when I left work. I called Mossad myself after I got home to make sure."

Ziva furrowed her brow. "I do not understand."

David lifted his head to look at her, his hand stopping its motion.

"Interpol's search came up empty," he said slowly. "Mossad has no records of any 'Ziva David' working for them now or in the past. I spent four hours on the phone trying to speak to someone high enough to give me the clearance for that information."

"What?" Ziva asked, eyes wide. She _knew _her name was Ziva David. She _knew _ she was from Israel, and at least involved with Mossad. It was impossible for them not to have some record of her. "How is that possible?"

"I don't know, Ziva," David replied. "But as far as Mossad is concerned, Ziva David does not exist."


	6. Chapter 6 NCIS Interlude

_Disclaimer: Things I own: A blue ipod nano, a smiley face coffee cup, and one broken laptop charger._

_Things I don't: NCIS. *tear*_

_Author's Note: *sigh* From now on, this story is sticking to Ziva's POV. Lol Writing this chapter was like trying to clean a wound with hydrochloric acid--agonizing. But anyway, it is done, and much longer than the regular chapters, although it is shorter than I had originally planned. I had to cut out some of it to keep a bit of the mystery in there, and I want you guys to learn certain things as Ziva learns them._

_Either way, I would not be surprised at a less than pleasant reaction to this chapter. I'm not a big fan of it myself._

_But whether you like it or not, please let me know in a review! I love them, seriously, you guys have no idea how nice it is to wake up in the morning and find a bunch of lovely reviews waiting for me._

_Oh, and an additional NOTE-- I hadn't previously established a time-line because Ziva didn't know one. So, as you might get confused to the time references in this chapter, I will explain them here._

_In this story, Ziva left for her Mossad mission a little over a week after NCIS left Tel Aviv. She was captured four days into her mission, and held for eight days. She was in a Somalia hospital for three days before she was moved to Egypt, where she's been for just under a week. So, it's been a month since Gibbs, Tony and Vance left Tel Aviv.  
_

_Now go read! (and review!)_

* * *

The weeks that passed since they had returned from Israel were tense. DiNozzo no longer held his phone in his palm, but anyone who took the time could catch him frequently taking it out of his pocket to stare at the blank screen and start waiting all over again.

McGee spent more hours in the office than ever before, throwing himself into the job to try and make up for what he saw as his failure. He'd never admit it, but Jethro knew he felt responsible--that it was his fault, his and Abby's, that they had uncovered that information about Ziva's betrayal and caused Jethro to leave her in Tel Aviv.

Jethro wanted to tell him otherwise and assuage his guilt. He just couldn't find the words.

Abby took it the hardest, as she always did when the team changed. Despite the fact that she took the longest to warm up to Ziva, she'd come to view that warm-up period as lost time and would do anything to get it back. Especially now.

And Jethro…. Jethro worked, as always. He worked on his boat, worked on the case, worked on anything that kept his mind off his missing agent and new 'probie,' Rowen Thompson. After he had told Vance that he would pick a new agent in a few months, Rowen showed up in the bullpen the following morning. Granted, he was the most qualified for the job--even Gibbs had been pleasantly surprised at his application, but he was furious at Vance for undermining him. Hence, the new probie sat in his desk every morning at the end of the line and David's desk remained untouched.

But even Jethro was beginning to wonder how much longer it could stay that way.

Ziva was a stubborn woman. No sane human being would argue otherwise, which would explain her first week of no contact. Jethro would bet his life that Ziva realized who she could trust the moment she watched them fly off the tarmac. So the first week would be her stubbornness in admitting the truth. The second week he could attribute to her anger. Rivkin played Ziva, took advantage of her trust and that, more than anything, set fire to Ziva's rage when Tony killed him. She had no way to take revenge for herself.

The third week, he started to wonder.

By the time a month rolled around, Jethro was angry.

So the moment he finished signing off on his agent's reports regarding their latest dead Marine, he set down his pen and stood.

"DiNozzo, McGee!" he called, walking around his desk and across the bullpen. "Meet me in Abby's lab in five."

He caught the look the two men shared as he passed them.

"Uh, boss?" DiNozzo called out, confused. "We got another case?"

"Nope."

"We about me?" Rowen asked, standing as Jethro neared his desk.

Jethro looked down into the dark eyes of his newest agent. "What are you doing right now, Thompson?"

The man furrowed his brow, gesturing to the open file on his desk. "I'm just working on the cold case files McGee brought me."

Jethro nodded. "Then that's what you're working on," he replied, firmly cuffing his hand across the back of the agent's head and heading to the elevator, intent on a large cup of coffee before going to see Abby.

"He really doesn't like me, does he?" Thompson asked the other two agents as Jethro waited for the elevator to open.

"Sure he does, probie," McGee replied.

"He doesn't hit either of you that hard," the man deadpanned, and Jethro had to hold back a smirk as he stepped into the elevator.

"Oh, relax, Tommy-boy," DiNozzo replied as the doors began to close. "If he gives you a concussion, I'm sure NCIS will pay for the hospital bills."

When Jethro returned and made his way down to the lab, he was glad to find both DiNozzo and McGee waiting for him.

"Gibbs!" Abby called, smiling up at him as McGee quickly tried to minimize whatever he had up on her computer. "What's going on? I was beginning to think you'd sent these two down here to keep me company while I doctored my babies."

Jethro stepped forward, handing her the cold Caf-Pow he held in his hand. "Not a chance, Abs. They've got more cold case work on their desks than they can handle."

"Uh, not that I'm complaining," Tony began, looking up at him, "but why, exactly, are we here, boss?"

Jethro gave him a long stare and watched as DiNozzo tried not to squirm under it. "When did David's phone get turned off?"

"Ziva?!" Abby asked suddenly and Jethro raised a hand to silence her.

DiNozzo's eyes widened. "I, uh… Boss, I haven't," he stuttered, earning another glare from Jethro that prompted him to answer, "That whole 'this number could not be reached' thing started last Monday."

He started calculating the time. More than a week ago….

"Around noon, boss," DiNozzo added quickly and Jethro nodded, not at all helping the blushed, sheepish look that had taken over the younger man's face.

Jethro looked to Abby. "You and McGee find me a way to speak to her."

His team members look to each other.

"Uh, have you tried e-mail?" McGee asked.

"I said 'speak,' McGee," he replied back. "As in the telephone, MTAC, a damn video-computer-conference thing, I don't care."

He could hear DiNozzo swallow as McGee and Abby both turned to the computers.

"Why, boss?" Tony asked. "All this time, she doesn't contact us. Why should we contact her?"

Jethro clenched his jaw. "To find out what she wants done with the stuff in her desk, DiNozzo," he bit out, sounding more aggravated than he had intended, though he felt no remorse for it. He would rather his agent think he was angry. It was better than him thinking the truth--that Jethro was right when he told Vance they'll never see Ziva again.

DiNozzo quickly looked away and Jethro took the time to notice the tension in his stance. He'd be lying if he said he'd never wondered if his two agent's had broken rule number twelve. Regardless of any possible infractions, he knew the two partners were close. The fact that they had parted on such bad terms ate at DiNozzo and they all knew it.

"Okay, that's weird…" Abby muttered and Jethro turned to looked at her.

"What do you got, Abs?" he asked, stepping to her left as she squinted at the screen, fingers typing furiously on the keyboard.

"Nothing, Gibbs," she replied. "That's what's weird. There's nothing. Her cell phone's obviously been shut off, but I can't even find a record of it! There's no forwarding number, no cell or mainline registered under her name in Israel. Just… nothing."

"Her e-mail's been deleted as well, boss," McGee chimed in from the other computer. "It doesn't exist anymore. Did Tony really piss her off that badly?"

"Listen, McAsshole, you're the one who went searching for evidence that she was betraying us!" Tony replied hotly.

"I was looking for information about _Rivkin_, Tony!" McGee replied, raising his voice. DiNozzo had hit a nerve.

Jethro let out a loud whistle, glaring at his agents as they turned to look at him. "How old are the two of you?!" he asked. "Enough with the damn blame games."

Neither one moved.

"Seriously, guys," Abby cut in quietly. "Ziva's gone. It doesn't matter who's fault it is."

They both mumbled compliant responses before McGee returned to the computer and DiNozzo stared sullenly at the monitor in front of them.

"Whoa," Abby said, breaking the silence several minutes later. "Timmy, can you get in here?"

Jethro watched as McGee turned to Abby's monitor, typing for a few minutes before he stopped.

"Abby, this is Mossad," McGee said slowly.

"Yes…."

"You want me to hack into one of the most dangerous intelligence agencies in the world?"

Abby blinked at him. "McGee, Ziva _is_ Mossad. If anyone has contact information on her, it's them."

McGee turned to Jethro, hesitance radiating from his gaze. "Boss?"

"Do it, McGee," he said. "Just don't let them know you are."

McGee turned back to the screen and let out a long breath before his fingers went to work, the clicking of the keyboard filling the silence of the room.

Abby sipped quietly at her Caf-Pow and Tony tapped his index finger on his opposite forearm as they waited. Jethro leaned against the opposite table, watching his team. He could almost feel the unasked questions in the air. Why was he really trying to get a hold of Ziva? Why did he leave her in the first place? Would they get her back? Was she in trouble?

Almost the instant he thought over the last question, McGee let out a tiny exclamation and formed a celebratory fist in front of him.

"You in?" Jethro asked, stepping forward.

"Yeah," McGee replied, typing even faster than before. "But I won't be for long. If I stay more than a minute or two, they'll be able to trace back to this ISP through the DNS server, even though I routed it through several unsecured networked to confuse the signal."

"Uh-huh," Jethro replied, acting as though he understood a single word of what his agent was saying.

Suddenly, the typing stopped and a rhythmic beeping issued softly from the computer's speakers.

"That's not possible…" Abby said, eyes glued to the screen.

"What is it?" Tony asked quickly, stepping forward.

"Her files," McGee replied, his voice as blank. "They're gone. There's no service record, no mission logs. She's not even on the payroll."

Jethro stepped around the table to look at the larger monitor, watching as the red font blinked on the screen.

_Files not found._

Setting his cup down on the nearest flat surface, Jethro turned on his heel, ignoring his three confused team members and marching directly out of the lab and into the elevator.

Jethro had no intention of knocking when he reached Vance's office. He flung open the door, stepping inside and slamming it behind him. "What the hell's happened with Officer David?"

Vance set his pen down slowly before folding his hands and looking up. "Well, hello to you, too, Agent Gibbs."

"I asked you a question," Jethro replied, his voice dangerously low and threatening.

"And I don't think you want the answer."

Jethro approached the man's desk and loomed over it, leaning down so he could look the man in the eye. "Tell me."

Vance didn't even blink. "She's dead."

Jethro reeled back, narrowing his eyes at the Director. "Excuse me?"

Pushing away from the desk, Vance stood, walking around the front of his desk. "She's dead, Agent Gibbs. Died in the line of duty for Mossad, last Monday at approximately eleven-forty."

Monday. Eleven-forty. Not minutes before her cell phone was shut down.

And over a week ago.

"And you're deciding to tell me this now?!" he asked, raising his voice. "You didn't think it would be appropriate to inform me _then_?!"

"Officer David's death does not affect this department."

"Bullshit! Ziva David was a member of NCIS--of my team--for four years!"

"And she returned to Mossad after her loyalty was questioned," Vance replied, not moving despite the fact that Jethro was now mere inches in front of him. "She was sent to finish Rivkin's assignment and was killed during the mission. Her death was dealt with by her family. It is a tragic loss, but of no consequence to this office."

Jethro glared, turning his head slightly at Vance. His breath was quick and shallow and his finger clenched at his sides, begging to reach for his SIG. "And you're sure Mossad wasn't involved in her death?"

"Positive."

"Then why the hell are all her records gone?!"

Blinking, Vance finally stepped away, turning to walk around the conference table.

"McGee was able to crack Mossad's security system?" he asked. "Impressive."

"Answer the question."

"It was part of her cover," he said simply. "Eli asked for our cooperation in securing it after Rivkin's failure. David would have had a hard time infiltrating otherwise. Her cover had to be deep."

"So erasing her existence was a way to facilitate her cover?" Jethro asked skeptically. "Forgive me if I don't buy it."

"You don't have to."

Jethro glared at the Director, trying very hard to wrap his mind around the entire situation when his phone began to ring loudly in his pocket.

"Answer it," Vance said. "It's probably your people trying to figure it out, anyway."

Scowling, Jethro fished the phone out of his pocket and bringing it to his ear.

"Yeah?"

_"Gibbs!" _he heard Abby cry over the phone. _"Gibbs, you have to get down here! This is really weird…."_

"What do you got, Abs?" he asked, cutting her off before she could start rambling.

_"I'm not entirely sure,"_ she replied quickly._ "I mean, there's nothing on Ziva, nothing at all. Not even in NCIS files. But then, there's reports of Director David at some memorial service, and I got all worried that it was Ziva, but then I got a hit from an Interpol search, so I knew it couldn't be her!"_

"Interpol?" Jethro asked, sparing a disgusted glance at Vance before turning away again.

_"Yeah, apparently they've got a missing person in Egypt claiming to be Ziva David. It just has to be her, Gibbs, it has to, it's too much to be a coincidence. But then, why is Ziva in Egypt, and why is she a missing person? Couldn't she just go home?"_

The wheels were turning in Jethro's mind. Egypt was in northern Africa. As was Somalia, the same place Rivkin--and apparently Ziva--had been set to. Mossad erases Ziva's records, claims her death and yet, miraculously, a missing Ziva David turns up misplaced in another country.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs may never assume, but he does believe in deductive logic.

Tightening his fist around his phone, he looked back up at Vance, glaring. He hadn't trusted the man from day one. Splitting up his team, all the secrets, and now this? Hidding the death of one of his people, who may or may not actually be alive?

Jethro spared one last look at Vance before heading toward the door. He paused before asking the only question on his mind, "What the _hell_ have you done?"


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: NCIS is owned by some big-wigs who live on the opposite side of the county. That does not include me._

_Author's Note: I am SO glad you guys liked the NCIS chapter more than I did. They were 'supposed' to show back up at the end of this chapter, but then David and Ziva got going and now this chapter has about half the content I wanted it to have. So apparently there will be a few more chapters I did not plan on. On the plus side, there is a lot of character development. :]  
_

_And OMG you guys make me so ridiculously happy with your reviews. Keep it up, please. I read each and every one and they give me so much motivation. I 3 you guys._

_NOTE: Yes, yes, I know what David's doing in this chapter is maybe a little controversial. As far as I know, it is not illegal, though an ethics committee would have a field day. But it's Ziva, he's been cutting corners for a while. And it's fiction, he does what I say he does. :]_

_READ!  
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* * *

  
_Ziva hummed, letting her head drift back into the spray of warm water. The pressure worked the kinks out of her shoulders and she allowed herself to relax. She still hadn't been able to shake the uncomforting feeling that she was unsafe, much to her annoyance and David's concern. David continued to check for updates from Interpol, but nothing had changed. Ziva David was not a known citizen or refugee of any country on record.

Yet she continued to heal. She continued to get glimpses of memories--nothing concrete, only flickers and images of another life. One thing she did pick up was a fluency in French, leading her to conclude that she had once lived in France, or studied the language intensively. Kima had been singing softly in her more familiar language while cleaning, and Ziva had been shocked to find that she could understand it.

Breaking from her thoughts, Ziva let her lips turn up in a smile as she washed her body, gliding her fingers over nearly-faded bruises that were no longer sore to the touch. Her ribs were healing, those still quite painfully if she moved too suddenly, and her wrist would be in a cast for another two weeks. Red scars littered her body, but were no longer held together with black sutures. Her inner forearm, was still lined with them, however, and there was a single stitch left in her eyebrow. David had elected to keep those in longer to reduce the chance of scarring.

To be honest, Ziva wasn't that concerned, but she had started to notice that David was taking no chances when it came to her recovery.

And that recovery also gave her something else to look forward to--her first real meal. She rinsed the soap from her body and turned off the water before grabbing a towel to wrap around her body. Stepping out onto the tiled floor, she went to the mirror and used a hand to wipe some of the steam from the cool glass.

She met her reflection with more recognition everyday, bringing her some sort of inner comfort that she was no longer a stranger to herself. Drying off, she removed the plastic wrappings that protected her cast from getting wet and slipped into another pair of hospital scrubs before padding her way back to her room.

"You feel better?" Kima asked as Ziva came in.

"I do." She smiled. It felt nice to clean up, but showering was another thing altogether. She felt truly clean. Her smile almost turned into a grin as she looked at the tray Kima set on the table beside her.

Chicken. She was going to eat a real piece of chicken. And some kind of vegetable pasta, if she wasn't mistaken.

Foods that required real utensils.

"I do not think chicken has ever looked so good," Ziva replied as she sat in the chair by her bed, not missing the irony of her statement.

"Enjoy, Miss Ziva," Kima replied, shaking her head at Ziva's sardonic humor as she pushed the tray closer. "I will bring your medicines after you eat. Your IV need to be changed again."

Looking down at the needle taped in her forearm, Ziva sighed. Her first IV had made her arm swell up like a balloon after the first couple days, so she understand the reason behind it. But despite the fact that she was healing near-fatal injuries, something about having a small needle inserted in her vein made her uncomfortable.

Kima put a hand on Ziva's shoulder. "Eat, Miss Ziva. It make you feel better."

Ziva offered her a smile. "Thank you."

"You are welcome," the older woman replied, taking her leave and allowing Ziva to eat.

The chicken was phenomenal. She doubted it would meet high-end cuisine standards, but the fact that it had substance and texture was astounding. After a week of liquids, mashed foods and soft noodles, having to use a knife was a delicacy.

As she cut her chicken into bite sized pieces, Ziva's eyes stayed on the metallic end of her hospital-issued steak knife. It only took her a few minutes to finish her meal in silence, but as she did so, she used her napkin to clean the knife before reaching over and tucking it between the mattress and frame of her hospital bed.

Footsteps sounded from outside in the hallway and she wrenched her hand back, returning it to her food as if she had been finishing up her meal.

"May I take your tray, Miss?" an orderly called from the doorway, his voice heavily laced with a Cockney accent.

"Yes," Ziva replied. "I am finished."

"Great," the portly man replied, stepping into the room. "I'll just get this right out of your way, alright?"

"Thank you," Ziva replied, waiting as he stacked her cup and utensils on the tray. When the orderly picked up the tray and left without commenting on anything being out of place, she let out a breath, sitting back in her chair and waiting for Kima to come back with her nightly medications.

Later that night Ziva fell asleep with her hand curled around the edge of the mattress, fingertips touching the wooden hilt of her newly-acquired knife. When she awoke the next morning, she realized it was the first solid night of sleep she'd gotten since waking up in the hospital over a week ago.

* * *

  
"You do realize you are a doctor, yes? Sworn to 'do no harm?'"

David lifted his gaze from his work and stared at her. "Are you complaining, Miss David?"

Ziva narrowed her eyes. "No, I am simply noting that those happen to be threaded through my skin."

His eyes softened. "I'm sorry," he replied. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I will be more careful."

Ziva huffed as he went back to work, very gently removing the line of sutures from her forearm. "You did not _hurt_ me."

"Stubborn."

"You are the only one to say so."

David paused to look at her once again, this time with mischief dancing in his eyes. "Janet would agree with me."

Ziva scowled. "Janet is an intolerable excuse for a medical professional," she replied. "And she should realize the difference between wishful thinking and an actual threat."

"Ziva, you told her you were going to remove her jugular with a ball-point pen."

"That is no reason to call security."

David laughed. "She could have put you on a psych watch for that, actually. You should consider yourself lucky"

Ziva rolled her eyes, but kept quiet. David worked in the silence for the next few minutes, snipping at the black threads and carefully removing them from Ziva's skin.

"You know," he said slowly, "you'll be being discharged in a few days."

Ziva eyes flicked to him, but he was staring at her arm. She turned her gaze out the window for a minute before she responded, "yes."

"Interpol still hasn't found anything on you," he continued, not looking at her.

She licked her lips. "I know."

He finally raised his head. "Policy says you'll go to a community home until you can get on your feet."

Ziva just stared at him. What was she supposed to say to that? They had discussed this before and she was not looking forward to living in some third-world community home while trying to find a job with no memory and no documentation.

"Come stay with me."

Her head shot up. "Excuse me?"

"Stay with me. Please."

Ziva stayed silent, prompting him to continue.

"I know it's not procedural," he said quickly. "Or ethical, even. And you probably want nothing less than to stay with a tosser like me. But I work seventy hours a week, so you'll have the place nearly all to yourself."

She paid little attention to what he said, much more interested in the question on her mind. "Why?"

"I don't want to see you on the streets, Ziva," he replied softly. "We don't get a lot of cases like yours here on base hospital, but I've seen it before. You get placed in a community home, with no past and no money and within weeks you're out on the curb like yesterday's waste. I don't want that for you."

"I do not know what to say," Ziva replied awkwardly. She hadn't even considered if she and David would stay in contact after her discharge and here he was offering her his home....

"You could say yes," David replied, pulling up one side of his mouth. "And you might feel safer in a home with real weapons, instead of tucking a steak knife into your mattress."

Ziva immediately forced her face blank. "What knife?"

David raised an eyebrow. "Kima found it when she was changing your linens," he said, watching her. "I understand the safety of a weapon, Ziva. I can certainly see how being Mossad would make it twice as important."

His expression showed no signs of anger, surprising Ziva. She expected someone to try and scold her for stealing the utensil, telling her how the hospital was completely safe while she tried to argue against them with nothing more than her instinct. His calm reaction made her nod in acknowledgement. "Yes."

"I would keep it away from Janet," he said, as though they were not discussing her using a kitchen tool as a weapon. "She would certainly try to have you arrested for that."

Ziva snorted softly. "I will keep quiet."

David nodded. "Probably a good idea. Though I meant what I said, Ziva. My flat is well-protected, should you choose to accept my offer."

Ziva sighed, looking away. They were back at the beginning again. Staying with David. Could she? His offer sounded genuine enough. And she wasn't blind to the fact that he frequently went out of his way for her, often doing much more than he was required to as a physician.

But living with someone was much more personal, wasn't it? It implied an implicit trust and a cohesive bond that two people could accept the other into their personal lives.

She trusted David. And he was evident that he trusted her the moment he let her handle his gun. It was the same moment she knew she could trust him, in fact. Someone willing to give you that kind of power over them was extraordinary.

And compared to the alternative of living in an Egyptian woman's shelter….

"You don't have to decide now," David said hastily, dropping his gaze and refocusing on removing the last few stitches in her arm. "As long as you know it's an option."

Ziva furrowed her brow, watching the top of his head as he bent over her outstretched arm. She could see the slight clench in the side of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders. Was he, dare she say it, worried she would reject him?

"David," she said, using her free arm to touch his shoulder as he removed the last stitch from her arm. "That is a very kind offer. I would be honored to accept."

His face stayed tight before he took in her words, a child-like grin breaking out on his face in response.

"I'm glad to hear that," he said softly, flicking his eyes down and carefully running a gloved hand around her healed wound.

His hands were gentle, yet strong and determined. The hands of a skilled doctor. The hands of a solider. Hands that could kill or restore life at his command. The thought made her shiver and his eyes flicked up to hers in response. Ziva felt her face flush at the intensity of his gaze and she tried to force her reaction away. The last thing either of them needed was to see her blushing over his touching her arm, but she couldn't stop the heat from flaming her cheeks. She wanted to look away, needed to before she got lost in his baby blues, but she couldn't. His eyes pinned her where she sat and his fingers continued to trace mindless patterns on the sensitive flesh near the crook of elbow.

A gently buzzing broke the spell between them, immediately drawing Ziva's attention to the blinking pager attached at his hip.

"I have to go," David said, not looking at the vibrating object in favor of keeping her gaze.

"All right," she replied, swallowing as he slowly pulled away from her arm. He removed his gloves, tossing them into the nearby waste bin before checking the small black pager. He sighed, quickly gathering his supplies and throwing out the trash before shouldering his bag.

Without speaking, he reached down, no latex between their skin this time as he twined their fingers together, playing with them gently before he let go, taking a step back and offering Ziva smile.

"Goodnight, Ziva," he said softly. Ziva offered the same in return and he quietly slipped out, leaving her to catch in her breath in a room that suddenly felt many degrees too warm.

* * *

  
_I don't normally do a second author's note, but I want your responses. Would you guys be interested in a pre-NCIS Ziva story? I've researched and plotted the hell out of it, from her joining the IDF up until the end of Kill Ari Pt. 2 and showing how Ziva became the woman we know now. I'm just wondering if it'd have an audience. Lemme know! :]_


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: "Hello. CBS? You're looking to sell NCIS to me? …Well, have you told Michael Weatherly and Cote de Pablo that their characters are going to get a lot more friendly, very soon? Oh. Uh-huh. I see. So we won't be making a deal? No, you're really not as sorry as I am…."_

_Author's Note: Oh, ye of little faith. I am disappointed in those of you who are doubting the Tiva of this story. It's not done yet! We will get there! Have faith; the journey makes the destination all that more satisfying._

_Sort of on the same note, I promise NCIS will make an appearance next chapter. Ziva just had a few things to figure out before I implement the next plot twist. Muahahaha._

_Also, guys. 83 reviews. Seriously? I love you. Now… let's talk. Do you think we can get to 100 reviews for this chapter? I really think you can do it. And since I am not nearly proud enough to refrain from begging or bribes, I vow, here and now, to try my absolutely damnedest to get the next chapter up tonight or tomorrow if we reach 100 reviews. You up for it? I know you can do it. :]_

_Happy reading!_

_EDIT: I have no idea what is going on with , but it is not letting me upload new documents. Grr. I am replacing an old document with the content of this chapter until I can properly upload. Plz to be fixing this, kthx!_

* * *

Moving in with David wasn't nearly the nerve-wracking experience she expected it to be. Of course, when all you had to 'move in' was a bag of medical supplies and a few pairs of extra scrubs from the hospital, it was more like staying with a friend than anything else. A friend, who may just happen to be something more.

That idea unsettled something in her.

It wasn't some ethical concern over the propriety of staying with her doctor or anything quite so trivial. It was something that Kima had said. Something that stayed in her mind no matter how hard she tried to force it away.

_"When you come here, you were standing in his shadow. No one think you make it a day. But you hold on. You spit in his face to be here for something."_

_"Whose face?"_

_"Death's. Something special keep you from him, Miss Ziva. Someone special."  
_  
As much as she told her mind that it was untrue, her heart roared back twice as fierce.

How could she possibly have someone 'special' out there, if she couldn't even remember him? Wouldn't that be one of her most important memories, like her name, her heritage?

No, it couldn't possibly be true.

And so she forced herself to settle into routine with David, the man who cared for her here and now.

David's apartment was warm and comfortable, though certainly lacking the feminine touch provided by a long-term female influence. It had a standard living room and kitchen, a large central bathroom and two moderately sized bedrooms. Ziva knew she'd settled the sleeping arrangements before they'd even started discussing it.

"I'll take the guest bedroom while you're here," David offered. "The mattress is much bigger in the other room and you'll be able to stretch out and heal faster."

"I am healed enough," Ziva returned. "I will take the guest bedroom. You are doing too much already."

David shook his head. "No, I insist. I will feel much better if I know you're comfortable."

"I am fine."

"Ziva…."

"David."

When he looked reluctant to acquiesce, Ziva added, "If you do not allow me to take the guest room, I will leave now and ask Kima to find me the address of the closest shelter."

That did it.

After showing her around the apartment, Ziva went to the bedroom to unpack the scrubs she had from the hospital into the dresser across from the foot of the bed. She would need clothes soon, and other various personal items, but the khaki cotton outfits would suffice for the time being.

"You know," David said, watching her from where he leaned against the doorframe. "You could just stay _with_ me instead of being so bloody stubborn."

Ziva looked over her shoulder, smirking at his light smile. "If you're lucky."

David laughed, said something about starting dinner and made his departure.

Having only the barest of essentials, Ziva quickly finished settling in and padded her way down the hall to the bathroom. Stepping inside, she stood in front of the sink, splashing down her face and dabbing it dry with a nearby towel.

Looking in the mirror, she moved her hands to the hem of her top, gently pulling it off and setting it on the counter without breaking eye contact with her reflection. Her index finger began outlining the fine red scars that marred her skin. She traced down the longest one, a jagged cut starting over the right side of her ribcage and extending down.

_"Sharmuta!" a deep voice bellowed, grabbing her by her hair and lifting her from the floor. A heavy fist came down on the side of her face and she cried out as he let go of her, dropping her to the floor where her ribcage tore into a loose piece of cement. Fire shot through her side and her hair was in his grasp again._

_"Tell me what you know about NCIS!"_

Ziva gasped, her eyes glazing as her focus shifted from the mirror to the internal montage playing in her head. Her finger shifted across her abdomen to a large circular mark not far from her navel.

_"I am getting quite tired of this," the same voice said, sighing. The scent of cigarettes invaded her senses as he blew the smoke into her face, making her cough and try to pull away._

_"Do you want to keep pretending as though you are getting out of this?" he asked again, and she ignored him. "No one is coming for you. If you tell us what we want to know, we will kill you quickly. Otherwise…."_

_He shrugged and she looked away, still refusing to answer._

_"No?" he asked. "So be it."_

_She barely had time to brace herself before the scent of smoke was replaced with the scent of burning flesh, his cigarette pressing firmly into a piece of revealed skin where her shirt had torn away._

She tore her hands away from her body, breathing in quick, swallow pants as her heart beat thudded in her ears. Her eyes went to the marks warily, trying not to acknowledge the pterodactyls that had taken up residence in her stomach. There were so many scars, too many for her to recount. And if the last images burned into her eyelids were any indication, she didn't want to remember them.

Yet still, despite her reluctance, her fingers went to a scar on her hipbone--a much older mark that had faded until it was nearly unnoticeable. This one had to be from something else, right? It was too old, too healed to be from the same experience as her other ones.

_She stood on the street corner, tapping her foot restlessly as she waited for the younger girl to finish ordering her favorite fruit smoothie._

_"Come on, Tali!" she called across the busy sidewalk. "It is time to go!"_

_"I'm coming, Ziva!" the girl called back, rolling her eyes._

_Ziva huffed as a bumbling man bumped into her. She checked her watch before scanning the crowd aimlessly. A shrieking woman caught her attention and her eyes immediately picked out the wide-eyed man who'd walked into her not a minute ago. He stood in the middle of the busy sidewalk with a red and white trigger in his hand, explosives strapped under his open jacket._

_The crowd began to scream and panic as Ziva's gut sank, her feet running forward while knowing she could not make it to the stand in time._

_The resounding boom was deafening as she was knocked backward, several large pieces of debris landing on top of her. She didn't even acknowledge the pain in her hip as she moved the pieces, starring in disbelief at the charred remains of what was a deli not moment ago._

_"TALI!"  
_  
Ziva had her shirt back on and was out of the bathroom within seconds. She tried to take deep breaths to calm her rapid heartbeat as she walked through the living room and into the kitchen, only to be stopped by the sight of David laying out various firearms and knives on the table.

"What is this?" she asked breathlessly, somehow managing to keep her voice level.

"I told you I had real weapons," David said with a shrug. "Feel free to choose whatever you'd like. I want you to feel safe here."

Swallowing thickly, Ziva stepped forward, her eyes darting over the various handguns and silver blades. Her left hand slowly closed over the hilt of a particularly sharp-looking knife while her right picked up a SIG Sauer P226, a familiar weapon that she couldn't quite place where she'd known it from.

The gun rattled slightly as she ejected the mag, noticing that it was freshly loaded and slipping it back into the gun. It took her a moment to realize that her shaking hands had caused the rattling and she let out an unsteady breath as a warm hand closed over her own.

"Ziva," David said softly, his voice close and she was surprised to find him standing right behind her. His hand helped guide hers back to the table, setting the gun among the others on the wooden surface.

He turned her to face him. "What's wrong?"

Ziva met his caring, questioning eyes and had to look away.

"My sister," she whispered almost inaudibly, fixing her eyes on a cabinet across the room.

"You have a sister?"

Ziva nodded.

"What do you remember about her?" he asked. His ever-present patience for her lack of memory was there and it only made Ziva shake her head. She couldn't explain this.

"Do you know how we might be able to contact her?" he pressed.

The question made Ziva's eyes burn and she forced them open wider to keep from tearing.

"She's dead," she replied flatly, turning on her heel and leaving the kitchen, heading back to the guest room and shutting the door behind her. She sat on the bed, dropping her head into her hands with a broken sigh.

Maybe David had been right, that she was locking away her memories to protect herself. And if she was honest, a part of her was tempted to try and keep them locked away. How was she supposed to live with her sister's death on her conscience? She was a Mossad officer. Even if she couldn't remember what that entailed, it should have been enough. The man who killed her sister had _bumped into her_. She should have noticed, should have done something. She should have saved her sister's life.

She didn't know how long she sat there before a timid knock sounded on the door. Lifting her head, she stared at the glazed wood, knowing exactly who was on the other side of it.

"Ziva?" David's voice called softly through the wood. "May I come in?"

Standing, Ziva went to the door, slowly pulling it open and meeting David with a blank face.

He looked at her for a long moment, not trying to step into the room.

"Ziva, I'm sorry," he said finally, and she could see in his eyes that he meant it. She didn't know how it could help, though.

"I am, too," she replied softly.

The two watched each other for a long moment before David stepped forward, carefully pulling Ziva into his arms. Ziva didn't resist, but she did stand still, not moving to return the embrace.

"I knew your memories were going to be painful," David said quietly into her ear. "Given the condition you arrived at hospital in, there was no way they couldn't be. Can you tell me about her?"

Ziva nodded slowly into his chest. "Her name was Talia."

David pulled back slightly to look at her. "Talia?" he asked. "As in… Tali?"

Ziva blinked. "Yes…. How would you know that?"

David brushed a piece of hair from Ziva's face.

"When you were first airlifted to the base hospital," he began, "you weren't in good shape. You coded twice and we almost didn't get you back the second time." He paused, sighing.

"You mumbled a lot," David continued. "It's not unusual for patients to become delirious when they're that badly injured, so we weren't concerned about it. Nonsense words, mostly. A few names, something that sounded like 'Roy.' But when you came back the second time, we thought you were actually speaking to us. Your words were so clear."

He looked hesitant to continue and Ziva was trying not to show how much she was hanging on his every word.

"What did I say?" she prompted, and David looked away.

"'I'm sorry, Tali,'" he quoted quietly.

Tears sprung to her eyes involuntarily and Ziva fought with all her will to hold them back. David pulled her back into her arms as a sob escaped her throat and this time she didn't hesitate to wrap her arms around him in return.

For the first time since she'd woken in the hospital, Ziva let herself feel. The fear of not knowing who she was, having woken up in a strange country with no name and no weapon; finding out that her country and the agency she served had no record of her and would be useless in the search for her past; the burning sense of longing that enveloped her anytime someone spoke of a loved one. Despite the fact that she was healed, she would swear she could feel the pain of every cut, bruise and burn that had been inflicted on her body preceding the loss of her memory.

David held her as deep, gut-wrenching sobs shook her body. Ziva hated herself in that moment for being so weak, but she felt swallowed by the tide of her emotions. She had failed her sister, and her sister paid the ultimate price in return. For reasons unknown, she had been tortured within an inch of her life, and she had no idea if she had betrayed someone in the process.

She was aware of David moving them to the bed, where Ziva sat stilled curled into David's embrace. He continued to whisper quiet reassurances to her and she could feel the gentle kisses he placed to the top of her head.

Eventually her tears stopped, though neither Ziva or David made any attempt to move from their current position. Ziva felt as though she had just run a marathon and her eyelids drooped.

Quicker than she would have thought possible, Ziva's breathing evened out and she fell asleep, her dreams filled with a child's sweet laughter, fruit smoothies and four letters that her conscious was slowly becoming aware of with increasing curiosity.

N. C. I. S.


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: NCIS is not mine. Le sigh._

_Author's Note: Phew, this is a long one. I guarantee some of you will start raising the pitchforks about halfway through, but I hope the ending makes up for it. :] _

_AND A HUGE THANK YOU to every single one of you who have helped us reach 100 reviews. A special shout-out to fergnerd, who not only left me a fantastically humbling review, but also happened to be the lucky number 100. This chapter is dedicated to all of you._

_We're getting so close to the end of this baby, I can taste it. Keep up the reviews, guys. They make me want to write, write, write!!_

_Read itttt!  
_

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"Kima says she misses you."

"She is a very nice woman. Although I cannot say I miss being washed with a sponge."

David chuckled. "Would you rather I have assigned Janet that particular duty?"

"I would have drowned her in the bedpan," Ziva replied, scowling.

They headed through the crowded Egyptian market, passing various stands and shops selling everything from fresh fruit to hand-woven clothing. A modern department store on base had fulfilled all of Ziva's basic needs, providing her with simple shirts, cargo pants, and other various essentials. David had been the one to suggest a trip to a nearby market to purchase some groceries.

Ziva agreed that she could use the chance to stretch her legs, but she also had that tingling sensation of unease in her abdomen. She adjusted the waistband of her pants, the warm metal of the SIG pressing into her lower back.

She was fairly certain that she could be arrested and detained for carrying in public, seeing as she could not prove her identity or her status as a Mossad Officer. Even if she could, she would be an unauthorized operative on foreign soil, but there was no way she was going out in public unarmed, even if David was carrying legally alongside her.

"Buy a pretty flower, sir?" a man said, interrupting her thoughts with his heavily accented voice. He stepped closer and extended a beautiful blue lotus toward them. "A pretty flower for a pretty miss?"

David raised an eyebrow, as if to ask Ziva's permission before responding to the vendor. The 'pretty miss' comment was kind, but the connotation that they were romantically involved was something she couldn't miss.

"That is not necessary," Ziva said lightly, shaking her head.

"But the lotus make your dreams come true, miss!" the man said, extending the flower at them once again.

"After the feast of the lotus, the ancients would hold a lotus-shaped pot, wielded of silver," the man continued, now selling his story more than his flower. "A burning candle was placed into the center of the pot and every person carried their own pot to the Nile, with nothing more than their most zealous desire on their hearts. The pot was placed into the river and if the burning candle stayed floating on the surface, the wish would come true."

"We'll take one," David replied before Ziva could respond. She looked to him, her eyebrow raised in skepticism and he smiled at her in return.

"Thank you, sir!" the man said, exchanging the blue flower for David's money. Ziva waited until they had walked out of earshot of the vendor before turning to him.

"Why did you buy that?"

David looked at her. "You didn't like his story?"

"It was just a story," Ziva replied. "He was trying to make a sale."

"It was interesting," David defended, shrugging. He stopped, turning to Ziva and slipping the stem behind her ear. It sat awkwardly at the side of her head and Ziva watched him with a curious expression as he adjusted it, seating it comfortably by her hairline.

"Besides, his original offer was a pretty flower for a pretty miss," David said. His face lifted as if he was holding back a smile. "How could I refuse an offer like that?"

She didn't blush, but David's offhanded comments still made her feel like a young girl on a first date. Licking her lips, she cleared her throat and replied, "Thank you."

David nodded, smiling to himself as they began walking again. "How are you feeling?"

"I am fine."

"I believe that about as much as I did when you said it in the hospital," David replied skeptically, watching her. "You've done a lot today. We can go home anytime you start feeling tired. You shouldn't push yourself."

She didn't miss the way he said 'home,' but she chose not to comment on it. "Really, I am fine. It is nice to get some fresh air."

"All right," David said slowly, acquiescing. "But I will cook supper this evening and we can watch a film afterwards. I'm still a doctor looking out for your health, after all."

He smirked at her, and she couldn't help but return the expression. Thankfully, neither of them had mentioned her weakness from the night before, but if she was honest with herself, she _was_ a little tired. And if his omelet that morning that been any example of his cooking skills, she had no reason to reject his offer to prepare dinner.

As it turned out, the same hands that Ziva had admired for their power were equally impressive in a culinary setting. The salad was refreshing, and the noodles and sauce had just a hint of spice that was divine. Ziva's stomach, which was still adjusted to hospital portions and offerings, devoured as much of the savory dish as she could without making herself sick.

"I can't promise I have anything terribly thrilling, but I might be able to find an acceptable drama to watch," David said as they cleaned the kitchen and moved into the living room.

Ziva nodded to him in approval, her full stomach and tired body looking forward to the chance to relax. She settled herself on the couch as he set up the movie, grabbed the remote controllers and sat himself next to her. She had to admire his tact; he was close enough to be friendly, but not so close as to be uncomfortable.

The movie followed the basic plot of any drama, making it seem both new and familiar to Ziva at the same time. Something tragic happened to the protagonist, who had to overcome impossible odds to survive and just so happened to find a love interest along the way. It was completely predictable and took very little concentration to watch.

Apparently David felt the same, and within fifteen minutes his arm was thrown over the back of the sofa behind her.

By the end of the first half hour, his hand casually dropped onto her shoulder. His arm followed soon after.

She felt that she should have been unaware of the closing distance between them, but instead, she could feel her muscles pull every millimeter of the way. Slowly, agonizingly--as if her muscles were laden with solid metal--the space closed between them and Ziva was tucked into David's side. His attention appeared to be glued on the television set; hers was zoomed in on every buzzing cell in her body.

The light of the television sent flickers of color at David's face, making it a much more interesting show than the one on the screen. The blues and greens highlighted the shadows of stubble on his chin; the reds reflected off his eyes in a gorgeous hue of purple.

As the movie changed from the last scene to the credits, David moved his gaze to Ziva. His eyes were questioning and dancing in the faint lighting, now searching her face just as plainly as she did to his. She could tell the moment he found whatever answer he was looking for as his gaze set, burrowing into her and sending tiny jolts of electricity from her brain down to her toes.

He raised his hand to her face, his thumb tracing the area where the lotus sat just hours before. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, eyes closing at the gentle contact on her temple. Gooseflesh broke out on her upper body and she could sense David moving even though her eyes were closed. She opened them again, unsurprised to find him much closer.

Their eyes met. Neither of them moved, waiting for the other to take the first plunge. Ziva let out a breath and David's eyelids fluttered closed, triggering her to follow suit.

His lips were chapped and dry, making her shiver as they tickled against her own. Her hand came up to wrap around the back of his neck, strumming her fingers through the fine hairs she found there. The other moved forward across her lap, finding the edge of his shirt and fisting itself into the material.

She gasped when his hand slid under her shirt, scalding her flesh as it wrapped around her waist. David pulled away from her mouth, moving his kisses down the side of her neck. She let her head fall back as she felt the change in pressure, making his moments more intense. She knew in that moment that they were standing on a great precipice, each waiting to make the step to tumble over the edge.

"Ziva," David moaned into her neck, tightening his grip on her. "Come to bed with me."

She let the air huff out of her chest, pulling him closer. She replayed every thought that she may already be spoken for and pushed them way, forcing her brain to concentrate on the here and now, rather than the 'maybes' and 'what-ifs' of a past that she may never remember. "Okay."

The next morning, she awoke to the ringing of a cell phone, causing her to open her eyes and watch blearily as David fumbled around for the offending object. The muscles rippled in his bare back as he sat facing away from her on the edge of the bed, mumbling a groggy, "hello," into the phone.

"No, it's alright, I was just waking up anyway," David answered to the unheard speaker. "What's going on…?"

David sat up straight. "From where…? You're sure they're legit…?"

Ziva furrowed her brow as she listened to the one-sided conversation, unease settling into her stomach as David sighed and drooped his shoulders at whatever news he was receiving.

"No, I'll talk to her," David assured the man. "Yeah, I'll call you back in a few minutes…. Alright, Tom. Thanks again…. Yeah, me too…. Thanks…. Bye."

David closed the phone, setting it on his nightstand and placing his head in his hands. Ziva sat up, clutching the sheet to her naked chest as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"David?" she asked. "What is wrong?"

David sighed again, not meeting her eyes. "Apparently there's been a breakthrough in your case," he deadpanned, no emotion inflecting his voice. "A pair of civilian American agents showed up at the Embassy asking about you, claiming that you work for them. They're at the hospital, looking to meet with you. Us."

Ziva sat frozen for a moment, unsure how to respond. "Oh…."

A derisive snort came from David, causing Ziva to cringe. "Yes, _oh_."

Ziva swallowed. She knew what David was thinking. After all the time they spent searching, the dead ends and disappointments, the hours spent on the phone with Mossad, they found nothing. Now, mere hours after sealing something more between them, a lead appears that could destroy any chance of exploring a relationship.

And she would never admit it, but as much as she wanted the answers to her past, they terrified her, as well.

"When do we leave?" she asked quietly, mentally preparing herself for whatever might lie in Pandora's box.

"I suppose as soon as possible," David replied. "They're waiting for us at the hospital. We shouldn't make your gallant rescuers wait any longer than necessary."

Ziva sighed at the mocking tone of his voice. "David…."

"What?" he asked shortly, not bothering to look at her.

She reached a hand forward to take hold of his jaw, maneuvering him until she could lock her lips on his. He hesitated before responding, but soon jumped in with the passion of a man saying his last goodbyes. The emotion of the kiss shocked her, pulling something tight in her chest. She sent him as much reassurance as she could, though there was little she could offer him. They parted and she opened to find David watching her closely.

"I guess we should get ready then," he said, trying to keep his voice light.

"Yes," Ziva replied, holding his gaze until he broke away, standing to grab his boxers where they had been discarded on the floor.

"I will go shower then," Ziva said after a moment, watching him gather his clothing. She moved toward the door, only to be stopped by the feeling of David's hand catching her elbow.

"Shower with me."

The suggestion caught her off guard, but she managed to slide a smirk on her face. "That would not help us get to the hospital quickly," she said teasingly.

He didn't rise to the bait. "Please."

Although every cell in her body protested that it was a bad idea, that she should not get more involved when things could soon come crashing down, she nodded. He was asking for a goodbye; she understood. "Alright."

By the time they arrived at the hospital, Ziva's nerves were shot. Outwardly, she appeared as calm and blank as ever, but her muscles were pulled taut with the stress of the situation. She didn't want to meet these people, not at the hospital. She understood that it was as good a location as any, but for her, it was a symbol of weakness she couldn't afford. Several times, she had considered telling David to turn around, that she had no idea who Ziva David was and they could procure fake papers for her on the street. It was a cowardly response and she knew it would never work, but that didn't stop her mind from entertaining the idea.

David took her hand the moment they stepped out of his car. She didn't refuse his grip, allowing him to lead her through the physician's entrance and into the hospital proper. He nodded to a man at the security desk, whom she deduced to be 'Tom' as he looked at David and said, "Room two-oh-one, Dr. Watson. The older one's got a temper, keep an eye out."

David nodded. "Thanks."

It took a short amount of time to reach the room in question. They both paused outside the door, turning to look at each other.

"Ziva," David began. "Whatever happens in there, I'm here for you. You know that, right?"

Ziva nodded, pulling her lips up. "Yes," she replied, squeezing his hand. "And for that, I thank you."

With that, she turned to the door, allowing David to open it for her. As soon as she stepped inside, her eyes took in the older man before sweeping over the features of his companion.

'_Is that what this is about?' the grey-haired man asked. 'You doubting your judgment?'_

_She looked away. 'I should have moved earlier.' _

'_You would've if you could've.'_

'_I left it too late.'_

'_You still took him out.'  
_

_Her eyes turned to him. 'I almost died.'_

'_But you didn't,' he replied. 'You've got to trust your judgment, Ziva. The moment you don't, it won't be 'almost.''_

She was aware of David at her side, but she ignored him in favor of turning to the other man.

_She sat perched on a rafter, staring at the activated bomb before her. She held the knife in her hand, counting circuits and tracing wires as the seconds ticked away._

'_I can see down your shirt right now,' the man replied, his gaze clearly directed to where her jacket had fallen forward._

_She snorted, smirking at his attempt to lighten the situation. 'I do not think your new girlfriend would like that.'_

'_What are you talking about?' he asked in a poor attempt to sound clueless. 'I don't-- I don't know what you're talking about.'_

'_I'm talking about you and the fact that you no longer stare at every woman when they pass you by,' she replied._

'_Well, I'm looking down your shirt right now,' he countered, moving his head to get a better look._

'_See anything good?' she said, forcing her voice to stay even as she held tightly onto the chosen black wire._

'_Yeah…' he said slowly. 'Real good. But I'm not entirely sure it's worth dying--'_

_She cut the wire quickly and she could hear his sharp intake of breath._

'_...Over.'_

_She let out a long sigh, her muscles relaxing as she stared at the now-inactive explosives. 'Not worth dying over,' she repeated, glancing up at him and zipping her jacket shut. 'I'll remember that.'_

'_What if I said it was?'_

_She nearly laughed at the question. 'Now you'll never know.'_

Her focus shifted from the memories back to the present scene, her eyes immediately locking onto the hazel ones that had just peered so openly at her cleavage.

"Tony…."


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: Tomorrow, I will own NCIS Season 6 on DVD. Unfortunately, I still do not own the show._

_Author's Note: Oh man… This chapter. I ended up spending the past week wicked sick and wrote this chapter--twice--while under the influence of Sudafed. Somehow, David ended up having a housemaid who was a part time stripper, and I have absolutely no recollection of ever having written such a plot line._

_Needless to say, I then had to scrap the entire thing and start over when sober._

_Warning: Author's brain and Sudafed do not mix. _

_PS - For those of you who said you were interested in a pre-NCIS Ziva story, check out the note on my profile page. Do it._

_And this story has about three or four chapters left. We'll see how the conversation goes in the next chapter. :]_

_GO READ!  


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_

Silence settled over the room as the three men watched Ziva expectantly.

"What?" she asked.

"Ziva," the younger of the two newcomers whispered, his voice barely more than a flutter of air. "You're alive…."

"Do you remember these people Ziva?" David asked.

"What do you mean, 'does she remember us?'" the gray-haired man cut in before she could respond. The tone of his voice made it clear that he found the question absurd.

David glared at him. "Might I ask your name, _sir_?"

For someone who was part of the British military service, Ziva was impressed with the amount of mockery David could lace into the addressor.

"NCIS Special Agent Gibbs," he replied, snarling.

Ziva's head jerked to the man at his mention of 'NCIS.'

"My apologies, Special Agent," David returned, his tone indicating that he was not impressed with the man's domineering attitude.

Ziva watched the charged exchange before turning to the third man, who watched her with an unabashed stare that made her shiver.

"Do you really not remember anything, Ziva?" he asked, his quiet demeanor a complete contrast to the two raging alpha males beside them.

"No, I--" she began before cutting herself off. "How do you know my name?!"

Something flickered in his eyes for just a fraction of a second before his face closed off.

"Look, boss," he said, chuckling as he leaned toward the other man. "First you forget me, then Ziva. I don't think DiNozzo's are quite that forgettable."

The older man glared at him as David ignored them both, turning back to Ziva.

"Ziva, are you sure you don't remember them?" he asked.

She scrunched her face in confusion. "I am not lying, David."

"I never meant to imply that you were," he replied. "But… are you _sure_?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?!" she snapped.

"Because you said his name."

Ziva blinked. "I did?"

David nodded. "Yes," he said, tilting his head to the man in question. "Assuming, of course, that his name is 'Tony.'"

"It is," replied the man in question, his eyes glued to Ziva.

Once again, the feeling of nostalgia settled over her, as if her memories were right at the end of her fingertips, just out of reach.

"Did you… look down my shirt?" she asked slowly, trying to remember.

Tony's eyes flicked from her high-collared top back to her face. "Uh…."

"No, no, not right now," Ziva clarified, shaking her head. "Before. Something about a bomb?"

Tony's eyes were blank for a moment before lighting in recognition. "If you mean the time you played super-ninja by scaling those rafters and risking our lives to disarm a bomb after Gibbs _explicitly_ told us to leave…." He paused, taking a large breath for dramatic effect. "…Then, yes."

His voice was light and humorous, but Ziva got the distinct impression that he really didn't feel that way. "Oh."

They all feel silent once again, expecting the others to start a conversation at any moment. When they didn't, Ziva found herself as the first to crack, forcing herself to speak just to clear the quiet. She didn't have the same plethora of memories to keep her mind occupied like everyone else.

"I am sorry," she said, "but I do not remember much."

"Don't apologize--" the other man began, and she felt her lips begin to finish his sentence before she could stop them.

"--It's a sign of weakness.". As soon as the words left her mouth, her eyebrows scrunched together, looking between the men. How…?

"Ziva," the man, Gibbs, said, catching her attention once again. "Do you know what happened to you?"

She stared at him.

"Other than being tortured and requiring three weeks of hospitalization?" she asked flatly. "No."

She hadn't meant for her statement to sound so cold and condescending. Did these people--this Tony and Gibbs--think that a quick glance at their faces would bring back several decades of lost memories for her? Sure, there was _something_ there, but she still couldn't put the pieces together.

"Maybe we should continue this conversation tomorrow?" David suggested, causing the two men glared at him. "I believe we all need time to process the situation, and I doubt you two are going anywhere until things are figured out?"

"Not a chance," Tony responded, though he showed no sign of leaving.

Gibbs continued to glare. Ziva wasn't quite sure what was going on between the two of them. Yes, she had walked in holding David's hand, but he had been nothing but an absolute gentleman to her. While Gibbs was an attractive man, she doubted very much that they had been intimate, so there would be no reason for either of them to be jealous. She couldn't prove it with a repertoire, but Gibbs just wasn't her type. She could find no reason for the testosterone battle.

"We're not leaving without her," Gibbs said, the ominous connotation of the sentence unable to be missed.

"Right," David said, dismissing the statement altogether and pulling a business card out of his pocket at handing it to Gibbs. "That's my home number if you need to reach either of us," he said. Gibbs raised an eyebrow and Ziva knew why--if his home number could reach Ziva, it meant Ziva was staying with him.

He accepted the card and nodded swiftly. "We'll be in touch."

With that, he tilted his head to Tony, signaling him to follow. They both left the room and Ziva let out a sigh as the door clicked shut behind them.

"Are you alright?" David asked, stepping toward her.

"I am fine," Ziva responded.

He quirked an eyebrow in skepticism, but did not press it.

"Okay," he said carefully before moving on. "I'm scheduled to work a double through the afternoon and evening, but if you'd like, I'm sure I could get Doctor Carter to cover my evening shift."

"That will not be necessary," Ziva replied.

The idea of spending a day alone in David's apartment alone made the hairs stick up on the back of her neck, but she ignored the feeling and forced herself to smile at him. She knew he would have to work. A few people showing up from her past was no cause for such trouble.

David's unsure expression told her all she was needed to know.

"Maybe I should call him anyway," he said slowly, reaching for his cell phone.

Ziva's hand closed over his before it could reach his pocket.

"David," she said, stating his name firmly. "Go to work. Do your job. I will be fine."

"I'm starting to hate that word," David deadpanned.

Ziva glared at him. "I mean it. Work. Save lives. I could use the time to think."

"Alright. But if you need anything, I mean _anything_, you call me. Understood?"

She gave him a bemused stare. "Yes, father."

He ruffled her hair playfully, muttering something under his breath as Ziva's eyes focused on a picture playing only in her mind.

_She stood behind her desk, eyes burning and exhausted as he watched her._

'_What?' she asked shortly. He stepped closer, his gaze making her stomach flip uneasily._

'_You don't look so bad,' he replied. 'McGee said you were a wreck.'_

_His hand came toward her and she flipped it without thought, pinning his wrist against the desk._

'_I was just going to tussle your hair,' he defended, before offering her a wry look. 'Sometimes it makes you smile.'_

_A pang of guilt washed over her as she let his hand go, pulling back and swallowing thickly. 'Sorry.'_

"Ziva, what is it?"

She opened her mouth to talk before changing her mind and closing it. It seemed like a good idea to detail the memory to David while she still remembered it, but she didn't want to. This one still burned behind her eyelids, much unlike some of the others, and it made her skin tingle. She knew the man, now. It was Tony. And this memory, despite it's rather innocuous nature, seemed too personal to share.

"It is nothing," Ziva replied, shaking her head.

"Ziva, no memory is _nothing_," David replied.

"Leave it."

"…."

She sighed. "Please."

The defeat was visible in his eyes. "Fine."

David brought her back to the apartment himself and made her promise several times to call if she needed anything. It took every ounce of her patience not to snap at him. When he finally did leave, she wasn't entirely sure that she had succeeded.

But despite her insistence that he leave, by twilight that evening, she was pacing the living room floor.

The older man, Special Agent Gibbs, had told David that he wasn't leaving without her. She assumed 'leaving' meant the country. Could she, _would _she, bring herself to leave Egypt and David if she didn't get her memory back?

And what if she did get it back?

Everything she could remember so far indicated that her past wasn't something worth returning to. She'd been tortured to within an inch of her life, lost a sister, and was an agent for an agency that specialized in government-sanctioned killings and refused to acknowledge her existence.

But what about Tony, and Agent Gibbs? There was something about them that made her heart clench. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something there. They were Americans, clearly not Mossad, and flew halfway around the world to bring her back.

Maybe she did have something worth returning to, after all.

But those were a lot of 'maybes' and 'what-ifs' to go on, especially when she was so comfortable in her little bubble of Egypt and David and all the caring he could offer. Even if he did get a little _too_ protective sometimes.

Before her mind could even contemplate such a decision, a sharp knock rapped on the door, startling her from her pacing and bringing her attention back to the present.

She glanced at the clock before drawing the SIG from its holster and approaching the door. Who would possibly be showing up at David's house after midnight? He hadn't told her to expect company and it was too late to be a polite drop-by visit.

"Hello?" a voice called from behind the wood, knocking again. "Ziva, are you in there?"

"Who is it?" she asked, standing to the side of the frame and bringing her hand to rest on the door handle.

"It's me," the voice said, its timber finally striking her as familiar. "Uh… Tony. From the hospital. Can we talk?"

Her mind told her that this _was_ Tony, that she knew his voice both from today and her few memories, but her every instinct was still on alert. She pulled the door open quickly, leveling the SIG at the man on the other side and watching as his eyes widened and arms went up in response.

"Whoa," he said warily. "It's just me, Zi. You can put the gun down. I'm not even armed."

He showed her his empty hip as proof, but it still took her a full second to lower the weapon.

"Sorry," she said, stepping aside to let him inside. "I was not expecting company."

Tony offered her half a smile and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, sorry, that's kinda my fault. Or Gibbs', really. He wanted to make sure you were alone."

Ziva's brow creased. "Alone? Why?"

Tony shrugged. "That Doctor Watson guy. Gibbs says he doesn't trust him, but that's not saying much, coming from Gibbs."

"David has done nothing wrong," Ziva said, bristled.

"Hey, I didn't say it," Tony replied. "This is Gibbs we're talking about here. I doubt the man ever even trusted his ex-wives, and he married them."

Ziva nodded. "Yes, well, unfortunately I do not remember any of that."

"Yeah…."

An awkward silence crept over them like a sentient being, strangling every sense and nerve ending until it consumed them. Ziva stood watching Tony, who opened and closed his mouth several times, occasionally grimacing or making a movement, only to fall short and draw his hand back at the last moment.

After a moment, Ziva finally broke her gaze from him, stepping back and gesturing her hand toward the couch. "Would you like to sit?"

Tony looked up suddenly, caught off-guard. "Uh, sure."

He sat at one end of the couch while she took the other, both of them looking forward and not daring a glance at the other.

"Ziva, I-"

Tony scoffed, shaking his head before he turned to her, now watching her.

"You really don't remember me?"

His voice was almost desperate, pleading, and it made her wonder about who he was, that her remembrance would mean so much.

She tilted her head. "No," she replied. "I have a few short memories, but the rest is a blank skate."

"Slate," he said suddenly and she looked up, confused.

"What?"

"You said 'skate,'" he replied, just a hint of a smile gracing his lips. "It's a 'blank _slate_.'"

"Oh."

"You're always messing up your idioms," he continued, looking away as if he was remembering fonder times. "I'm usually the one to correct you, but sometimes it's Probie." He looked to her quickly. "Wait. You don't remember Probie, do you?"

"Probie?" she said slowly, breaking apart the syllables.

"Yeah. McGee."

She paused. "It is… familiar, but… no."

Tony let out a breath. "Good."

Ziva frowned. "It is good that I don't remember him?"

Tony looked horrified. "No, no, not that you don't remember!" he said quickly. "It's just good that you don't remember him while you've forgotten me."

"Oh."

She was saying that a lot lately. It wasn't a conscious decision on her part, but what was she supposed to say? He was telling her things like she would understand their references, and she didn't.

She flinched as his hand suddenly grasped hers.

"Ziva, you've got to remember," he said, his voice low.

"I am sorry," she replied, pulling back her hand though he didn't let it go.

"Ziva, you _have_ to."

She yanked her hand away, standing up and putting several few between them.

"I CANNOT!" she said, yelling. "Do you not think I have tried? I am stuck in a country with no papers, no past! I cannot even prove my name! I remember Mossad and they do not even acknowledge that I exist, and then you show up from halfway around the world and expect me to remember and forgive you and I cannot!"

She stopped, taking a deep breath to calm herself and missing the look of shock that crossed Tony's face.

"Who said anything about forgiveness?" he asked.

"What?!" she snapped. "What are you talking about?"

"You said I expect you to forgive me," he replied. "I never said that."

Pausing, she thought back on her words. She had not meant to say such thing, hardly remembered saying them, yet she knew she had.

"Did you do something that needs forgiveness?" she asked slowly, her stomach flipping.

His head bowed, and that was all the answer she needed.

"I think you should leave."

His head shot back up.

"Ziva?" he asked, his tone shocking her with its emotion, even though she couldn't place it's cause.

She swallowed. "If you did something that requires forgiveness, it is better that we do not talk while I cannot remember it," she said, forcing her voice to remain calm.

He watched her longingly and when it was clear that she meant what she said, he nodded once.

"Alright."

She showed him back to the door in silence. The opened it, stepping to the side and letting him pass.

He turned back to her once he was across the frame.

"Gibbs is outside," he said, though his voice now sounded flat to Ziva's ears. "He's going to want to talk to you."

"Okay."

"You don't have anything to forgive him for," Tony continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "I wouldn't recommend pulling a weapon when he knocks on the door, though."

"I'll remember that."

"Goodnight, Ziva," he said, lifting his eyes to hers. "I'm glad you're safe, even if you don't remember me. Hell, maybe it's better that way."

He turned on his heel, heading down the hallway without a glance back. Ziva's eyes came together, watching Tony leave with an unfathomable expression on her face. Her heart ached at the sight of him walking away, as though she had just crossed some invisible divide where they could never again meet on the same side.


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS, the actors, or any part of the show. _

_Author's Note: I'm posting this on my way out the door for work, so I will come back this evening to fix any typos that I missed._

_Also, this is the last chapter that I will hold you guys out for on the Tiva. Next chapter will be the one you've been waiting for._

_REVIEW, guys!! Let me know what you think. We've only got three more chapters to go, make it count!!  
_

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Ziva shut the door after Tony's departure, pressing her forehead into the wooden frame. She stayed in that position for some time, listening to the ambient sounds coming from other apartments as she closed her eyes. Soon came the thudding sound of approaching footsteps and she moved her head back from the door just seconds before a sharp rap knocked out on the wood.

Drawing in the a breath, Ziva schooled her features blank before opening the door.

"Special Agent Gibbs," she greeted, nodding to him.

Without pretense he stepped into the apartment, shutting the door behind him.

"Ziva," he replied. "I don't know what you said to DiNozzo, but I expect you to fix it."

"I said nothing," she replied, confused.

"In the four years I've known you, you've never not had something to say, David."

Ziva's stared at him. She'd known these people for four years?

"He said that I had something to forgive him for," she replied slowly. "I thought that it would be best if we did not speak while I cannot remember."

"Okay," Gibbs said. "And did he mention anything about forgiving you?"

She unconsciously evened her weight onto the balls of her feet. "I have done something that requires his forgiveness?

"Yep. At the very least, you owe us some answers. DiNozzo most of all."

She watched him as he stared back at her, a silent struggle passing between them. Ziva broke first, unable to hold her own under Agent Gibbs' unyielding eyes.

"You expect me to apologize for something I cannot remember?"

Gibbs stepped closer to her. "No," he said. "I expect you to fix it."

Ziva held back a sigh. "And how, exactly, can I fix it when I do not know what 'it' is?"

"By remembering it."

Ziva closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, just barely distinguishable from a blink. "Perhaps we should sit," she offered, moving toward the couch.

"Standing is fine."

Ziva stopped. She could have used the excuse of her injuries as justification for seating herself, but both the excuse and the position in which it would orient her would weaken her stance in their discussion. She had no desire to appear weak and doubted very much if such an act would be acceptable to Gibbs.

"Alright," she said, forcing back a scowl and returning to where he stood. "Then perhaps you could explain what it is that I have done."

"I could," Gibbs offered. "But I won't."

Ziva clenched her jaw. "Has anyone ever told you that you are infuriating?" she bit out.

"All the damn time."

Her hands flew up, slapping on her thighs as they dropped back down. "What do you want from me?!" she asked heatedly. "I do not know how many times I can tell you people that _I do not remember!_"

"You can remember, Ziva," said Gibbs, this time with a gentleness lacing his voice that had not been there previously.

The tone made Ziva feel uncomfortable for her outburst. When she spoke again, her voice was much quieter. "I have tried."

Gibbs' next step brought him into her personal space. It took a great deal of effort for her not to step back.

"You can remember," he reassured her. "Just like I did."

'_What can I do?'_

"You have lost your memories?" she asked, scoffing.

'_Remember.'_

"Yep."

'_I've been trying to since I woke up in this room!'_

"And how, exactly, did you get them back?"

'_Well, try harder!'_

She caught the movement out of the corner, just a moment too late as Gibbs' hand connected firmly with the back of her head. Her expression turned to confusion before her eyes glassed over, no longer watching the same scene as Agent Gibbs.

'_Having phone sex?'_

'_Phone sex?!'_

_Her finger slipped perfectly into the tiny circle. 'I'm wondering why there's a nine-millimeter hole in my hat….'_

'_Ventilation.'_

_She glared at the grey-haired man. 'I am merely trying to do my job.'_

_He glared back. 'Your job is to follow my instructions.'_

'_And I respect that,' she replied. 'Is it too much to ask for some in return?'_

'_Ziva, look,' he began, the muscles tightened up her back as his voice hardened, yelling out over the phone.. 'I'm retired! I'm three thousand miles away! What do you think I can do that they can't?'_

'_Honestly, I don't know,' she replied, swallowing. 'I was hoping, maybe… save me?' Her finger ran across her nose, catching a tear as it slipped down her cheek._

'_Would you have noticed that I was no longer there?' he asked, his body shaking from the radiation sickness and the outside chill. 'That I'd stopped running?'_

'_Yes,' she replied. 'I would have noticed. I would have missed seeing you.'_

'_But eventually you'd have forgotten me.'_

'_Yes.' She turned to smile at him, even though she wanted nothing more than to cry. 'I won't forget you now….'_

'_Do you ever think about soul mates?'_

'_They were on Decca, right? Big hit, mid-'70s, sort of a disco thing? Sing a few bars, I'll get it.'_

'…_You'll never get it.'_

'_Do you think prostitutes ever get bored? I mean, the same work, day in, day out, day in, day out…?'_

'_Ziver….'_

'_Uno mas, si'l vous plait!' she called, lifting her hand to signal the bartender. _

'_You're mixing your languages,' the man next to her replied, smirking._

'_And my liquors.'_

'_Paris,' he commented, sipping at the glass. 'That's when it must have happened.'_

'_The two of them alone, in another world,' she added wistully._

'_Putting their lives in each other's hands every day….'_

'_Not to mention the long nights.'_

_The liquor was warm, but the weight of his stare was warmer still. _

'_It was inevitable,' he replied, his eyes saying more than his words could._

_Her gaze was challenging. 'Nothing is inevitable.'_

'_We were given a direct order not to engage!' he said, the stress of the last few hours getting to them both. 'I recall that you were the first one to throw a punch!'_

'_It was a reflex!'_

'_Hmm, really?' he questioned skeptically. 'Then what happened after? The last thing I remember before the lights went out was you Kimbo-slicing through a room full of guards. Was that a reflex?'_

'_Yes!' she snapped at him. 'It was! Gunshot went off; I saw you--!'_

_She stopped, their eyes meeting to finish the sentence for them. _

'_I'm tired of pretending.'_

_She sighed. 'So am I.'_

_The young girl was given Lee's badge, Gibbs speaking to her in low, comforting tones. She could only be reminded of Tali, and how she wished her father had shown just an ounce of Gibbs' compassion. A tear slid down her face as Tony watched her and she moved, leaving the room and seeking the privacy to lick her wounds in peace._

'_Long distance can be hard. Tele-friend from Tel Aviv?'_

'_You're jealous.'_

'_Interfering?' she asked, confused. 'How is he interfering?'_

'_He's already killed two suspects!'_

_She scoffed. 'Well, in my country that would be cause for celebration!'_

'_You're not in your country!' he replied, snarling at her. 'And neither is he!'_

'_Rivkin is dead. Tony killed him.'_

'_He attacked me!' he replied angrily. 'What was I supposed to do?!'_

_Before she even realized what she was doing, she had him on the ground, pinned between her and the cement._

'_You saw a glass table, you pushed him back, you dropped him on it,' she recited quickly, her breath turning harsh. 'He was impaled in the side by a shard of glass. Bloody! Gasping for air!'_

'_I guess you read my report.'_

'_I MEMORIZED IT!' she snapped. 'You could have left it at that, you could have walked away! But no, you let him up!' She pulled her SIG from her hip, pressing it's tip painfully into his sternum. Tears burned at her eyes but she refused to let them fall. 'You put four in his chest!'_

'_You weren't there,' he replied, and she could see the fear dancing just behind the hard expression on his face. _

_She moved the gun to his thigh. 'You could have put one in his leg!'_

'_You. Weren't. There.'_

'_But I should have been!' _

'_Be safe, my child,' he told her quietly. 'Make your father proud.'_

_The pain exploded in the side of her face as she was backhanded once again._

'_You will never see them again,' the voice taunted. 'Just tell me what you know, and I will end this quick….'_

_She hardly even recognized the familiar language as footsteps thudded in the tiny room. Her mind was so muddled, her body so broken that she could no barely decipher the diction of speech. _

_She flitted in and out of consciousness, catching only glimpses of a blue sky, familiar grey hair and tight, restraining hands as she tried to claw her way free. _

_The feel of cement under her body was agonizing as she was set down, a hand coming up to quiet her and move the hair from her bruised face. _

'_I am so sorry, my Ziva….'_

"Ziva?" Gibbs asked, as her eyes blinked slowly, trying to integrate back to her present surroundings.

The look on his face told her that only seconds had passed, though to her it had felt like hours. The expression on his face was familiar, one she had seen on David's face several times before. He expected her to remember.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself to meet his eyes.

"I am sorry…."

Gibbs stared, scrutinizing her every feature.

"Don't apologize," he finally responded, more of a soft reminder than a command.

"Alright."

The silence that followed was nothing like the palatable awkwardness between her and Tony. This was wistful and pensive, the silence of two people trying to reconcile the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Eventually, the day's events began to catch up to her and Ziva lifted a hand to her face, using her fist to stifle a yawn.

"You need to sleep," Gibbs said.

"Yes," Ziva agreed, nodding. "You will be in touch." It wasn't a question.

"Yep."

She led him to the door, opening it to let him out. He paused in the doorway, turning to her before he spoke.

"I thought staying in Israel was your decision," he said, his expression unreadable. "I won't make the same mistake again."

Ziva had the feeling it was the closest thing to an apology that she would get.

"You will remember, Ziva," Gibbs added, nodding and bidding her goodnight before turning on his heel and leaving, much in the same fashion as Tony had. And just like when Tony left, Ziva had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Only this time, she knew why she was uneasy. She had just lied to Gibbs.

It was nearing four in the morning when David finally arrived home. Ziva heard his keys in the lock and as he took off his shoes, setting down his things and taking off his coat. She didn't move from her bed, where she had perched herself after Gibbs' departure, with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.

The light under her doorway must have alerted David to her wakeful state, as his footsteps paused as they passed her door, turning to come and knock softly on the wood.

"Ziva?" he asked. "Are you still awake?"

He creaked the door open and Ziva didn't move, except to raise her eyes in their current position and look at him through her eyelashes.

It only took a second's pause for David to step fully into the room and close the door behind him.

"Are you alright?"

Ziva's lack of answer was apparently enough for him to take a seat next to her and place a hand on her unmoving shoulder.

"Ziva, talk to me," he said. "What happened?"

She could hear the plea in his voice. He thought he was losing her. She didn't know if she could honestly tell him that he wasn't.

"Tony and Gibbs stopped by," she said finally, sitting up straight and keeping her eyes forward.

David creased him eyebrows for a moment. "Tony and… The two from the hospital?!"

Ziva nodded. "Yes. Do not get mad. I could have forced them to leave if I didn't wish to see them."

"How the bloody hell did they get this address?" he asked, as if Ziva hadn't spoken.

"Probably from Abby."

That gave David reason to stop. "Abby?"

"Yes."

"Who's Abby?"

Ziva swallowed. "She is a forensic scientist," she replied. "Very good with computers."

David's jaw tensed at that piece of information, though whether it was from Ziva's recollection of another person from her past or the idea that someone could find him anywhere, she didn't know.

"Do you remember Abby, or did _Special Agent Gibbs _tell you about her?"

"Do not mock him," Ziva said simply. "He is a good man."

"So you remember him, then?"

Ziva nodded. "Yes."

David's hand, which had dropped from her shoulder, moved to rest on her knee. "If you remember him, and he is a good man, then why did you look so upset when I came in here?"

Her fist clenched at her side. "Even good men have their faults."

David's hand tightened. "Did he do something to you, Ziva? Is he the reason you showed up in Egypt so beaten?"

Ziva narrowed her eyes at him. "No."

"Is Agent DiNozzo?"

Her eyes closed. "No."

"Do you know who is?"

Her head dipped. "Yes."

David's hand came up to her chin, compelling her to look at him. "Who, Ziva?" he asked. "Tell me who."

She watched him for a moment before shaking her head. "I am sorry," she replied. "I cannot."

"Why not?"

"Because it is not safe," she said. "Because it is not your concern."

David's jaw dropped open. "Not my concern?" he asked, clearly bristled. "Not my concern?! Ziva, I spent weeks treating you when you couldn't even move on your own! I've let you into my home and my heart! Please explain to me how this is not my concern!"

His tone made Ziva's chest tightened, but she managed to keep a straight face.

"I do not wish to insult you," Ziva said slowly. "You have been nothing but wonderful to me. But the people who did this to me have already paid for their crimes."

"Paid how?"

"With their lives."

"Did Agent Gibbs tell you? Did he put a bullet in them himself?"

Ziva almost smiled at the notion. "No, death would have been preferable to Gibbs finding them," she replied."

"Then how do you know?" he asked.

For the first time that night, she turned fully to look at him.

"Because I remember," she said.

"You remember?"

"Yes," she replied, nodding. "I remember everything."


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer: NCIS is still on my Christmas list. Until Santa makes my wish come true, it's not mine._

_Author's Note: Fun fact--It's after midnight and I have Bio II lab at 9 am tomorrow morning, yet here I am writing and posting this. That is how much I love you guys._

And here it is. The chapter you've been waiting for. I swear, if I don't wake up to some seriously awesome reviews tomorrow, Ziva shoots Tony and Gibbs and runs away with David forever.

...Just kidding.

But seriously, guys, review the shit out of this. I would LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE to reach 200 reviews, and you've only got a couple more chapters to make that happen. I know you can do it!

Anyway, I'm off to dream world I will edit mistakes for 11 and 12 tomorrow during my break.

GOODNIGHT AND HAPPY READING!

* * *

That night was one of the longest of Ziva's life. And now that she could remember them, there were a lot of long nights to compare. Despite the fact that she didn't get into bed until after zero-five-hundred, the hours until it was acceptable for her to be awake again passed dreadfully slow.

David asked her to sleep with him and though he meant strictly sleeping, she knew she had to refuse.

"Have I done something wrong?" David asked.

"No," Ziva replied, reassuring him.

"Is there someone else? Did you remember that you're married?" His attempt a humor fell drastically short.

"I promise to still be here when you wake up."

She knew that it wasn't enough. He knew that it had to be.

Her promise proved much harder to keep in practice than in theory, however. She slept little more than an hour, tossing and turning in the sheets as her mind raced with memories of her past, trying to reconcile them with recent weeks.

It wasn't as if she had just slipped back into her old mindset, fully capable of dealing with her past. Her wounds were real, as if they happened days ago, instead of years.

She woke up in tears over the loss of Tali, her broken childhood, her father's lack of compassion.

She escaped into the solace of the shower, hoping to wash away the evidence of her weakness with the water. But the shower dial would not turn hot enough to cleanse her of Ari's death; the loofah was too soft to wash away all the blood.

Her hands shook as she slid down the tile wall, curling into a ball at the bottom of the tub. The sounds of David moving through the apartment caught her attention, but only to make sure he wasn't trying to get into the bathroom.

She sat waiting for the water to get so cold that her teeth would chatter, snapping her out of her headspace and forcing her brain to focus--turn off the water, grab a towel, get dressed. Unfortunately, the water only ever reached a luke warm. No source of water was freezing in Egypt during the summer months. Nor in Israel. That particular expectation was entirely American, where most of the country, with the exception of a few southern states, had such a temperate climate that the water could turn bitterly chill in any season.

The disappointment that welled inside her forced her to move, turning off the shower and following her routine as she got out. Rather than following her nose to the kitchen in search of breakfast, however, her feet directed her back to 'her' room.

Even in her mind, she could no longer recognize what was David's as her own. Not when she had memories of her own belongings.

Her own car, her own gun. Her own apartment, which had been blown apart after Tony killed Michael.

…And she was back to square one.

For the first time, she turned the lever under the door handle, turning it until the lock clicked into place. A basic sitting chair sat in the corner, one which she had placed her clothes on several times. Removing a shirt from the seat, she moved the chair toward the window, seating herself and looking out onto the busy Egyptian streets.

Egypt.

They were not very far from Cairo.

Where she'd met Jenny. Where she'd saved Jenny.

How in the world was she supposed to deal with this?

When a traumatic event happens, a person grieves and eventually moves on. They draw on their experiences, the strength of others--whatever it takes to survive.

Some people are stronger than others.

But no one was ever meant to grieve a lifetime of pain in a single experience.

For the first time, she truly understood Gibbs' decision to 'retire.' He'd just been severely injured, lost his memories and regained them again in a very short time. Immediately, he called up his sense of duty to try and save lives. When he failed, there was nothing left but the pain of a lifetime's losses.

Moving to a secluded beach to drink beer and be alone with one's thoughts seemed like a spectacular idea.

Only instead of having to stop a terrorist attack, Ziva had to make an impossible decision.

Should she go back to America, to the man who killed Michael and the NCIS that believed she'd betrayed them? Should she go back to Israel, where her existence was being denied by the agency she'd given her childhood, her pride, and very nearly her life to protect? Or should she stay with David, a man who'd shown her nothing but kindness, yet knew nothing about her?

Baja was starting to seem more appealing than ever.

She'd lost track of time until a sharp rap on the door broke her from her thoughts.

"Yes?" she called out, her voice rasping from lack of use. She turned her head toward the door, blinking to adjust her eyes in what was now a pitch-black room.

"I know you want to be alone right now and I respect that," she heard David answer through the wood. "But someone left a package out here addressed to you. DiNorzo, I think."

Ziva's knees popped as she stood, moving them for the first time since she'd taken position in the chair.

"DiNozzo," she said, opening the door to see David with a small box in his hands.

"What?" David asked, furrowing his brow.

Ziva cleared the crackle from her throat. "His name is DiNozzo. Tony DiNozzo."

David pursed his lips. "Ah."

Their eyes met and Ziva could see the questions forming on his lips before her ever spoke them.

"You said he left something for me?" she said, cutting him off before he could ask her something she couldn't answer.

"Oh, yeah," he said, distractedly, handing her the small box. "Here."

Ziva offered him a tight smile as she took the box. "Thank you."

She held the box in her hand and David made no move from the doorway. A stagnant pause hung over them, prompting her to act.

"I am sorry," she said quietly, slowing moving to pull the door closed once again.

David's face fell. "I understand," he replied as she closed the door, leaving her alone once again.

She flipped on the light switch and sat on the bed, pulling the tiny box onto her lap.

It was wrapped in a cheap gold paper with a matching bow. An envelop was attached to the top, which she removed, setting it aside as she lifted the lid.

Her eyes froze on the small golden star, it's delicate chain sparkling in the room's reflective light. Taking the envelope, she broke the seal without looking, only moving her eyes to the paper once it was out and in her hands.

She recognized the handwriting immediately. Large portions of the letter were heavily crossed out, so thoroughly that she could not make out the writing hidden beneath them. Her eyes moved to the writing that was legible.

_Ziva,_

_I noticed you didn't have your necklace last night. You always wear that thing, and considering what happened… I kinda figured you probably didn't have it any more. I know this isn't the same and I'm sure the last had some sentimental value that you never explained._

_Gibbs would kill me for this, but the hotel address is scribbled inside the box. He says you still don't remember, but if that changes and you want to talk, that's where I'll be._

_I never meant to hurt you, Ziva._

_Tony._

Ziva pulled the necklace free of its packaging, removing the cardboard from the box entirely. The same script was scribbled onto the bottom of the box, an address she recognized as being several streets over from the market.

She bit into the inside of her cheek, staring at the address as her mind warred over the decision.

After a moment, she dropped the box back on the bed, slipping on a pair of shoes and grabbing the sweater she had tossed off the chair earlier.

She still had the knife David had given her tucked into her waistband, but she stalled over the SIG, foregoing it's protection to turn the lock swiftly under her hand and walk into the living room.

"Ziva?" David asked, looking up from the couch.

"I am going out," she said simply.

His left eyebrow twitched. "W-Would you like me to go with you?"

"No," she replied. "I am certain of where I am going."

"You're sure."

"Yes."

"Alright," he said, giving up. "The door will be open when you return."

"Thank you," she replied, moving toward the door. She stopped before she closed it behind her, calling him name to catch his attention once more. "I mean it," she said sincerely. "Thank you."

He nodded and she pulled the door shut, leaving the apartment complex in route toward the address ingrained in her mind.

She reached the shabby hotel, not bothering to check in with the sleeping guard at the front desk. Taking the stairs, she walked the three flights up, stopping in front of room 3B.

Raising her hand to knock, her eyes caught on the glint of gold in her hand. She paused, opening her fist to realize that she was still holding onto the necklace. Drawing in a breath as the started at the golden star, her fingers only shook slightly as they undid the clasp, sliding her hands up and refastening it around her neck.

The weight of the tiny charm was heavy on her chest, but she adjusted it appropriately, raising her hand to the door once again. This time she didn't give herself time to pause as she flicked her wrist forward, rapping her knuckles on the wood twice.

A loud crash and a muffled growl sounded behind the door before it was flung open.

"Dammit," the voice on the other side said. "Stubbed my fuggin' toe."

The scent of alcohol made her reel back before she could even see Tony's flushed face.

"Ziva?!" he asked incredulously, yelling slightly.

"Shhh!" she said, shushing him. "You do not need to be so loud."

"What are you doing here?" he asked, this time whispering through the child-like grin that formed on his face.

"I came to speak with you," she replied, before giving him a good once-over. "Though perhaps this is not the best time…."

"No!" Tony said, yelling again as he sensed her reluctance. She glared at he grimaced apologetically, moving to open the door and beckon her in. "Don't leave. Come in. Please."

She hesitated, knowing that they needed to talk and Tony was clearly in no state of mind to carry an intelligent conversation. But the hopeful sparkle in his bloodshot eyes went straight to her heart, compelling her to nod and step forward.

Tiny hotel bottles of alcohol littered the counter and nightstand. There was no couch or chair set, leaving the rumpled bedspread as the only place to sit.

Tony stumbled slightly as he hastened to straighten the covers, only managing to pull them even more askew in the process.

"Sit," he said, his arm flinging out from his side to gesture at the bed. "Make 'urself comfy."

She did sit, though it was much more prim than his ungraceful flop.

"Where is Gibbs?"

Tony shrugged. "He got some room on the firs' floor."

Ziva nodded, fixing her eyes on the cracked television screen across from her.

"So what brings you here, Zee-vah?" Tony asked suddenly. "Decided you dun' hate me after all?"

Ziva sighed, knowing the blatant reaction would be lost on Tony's drunken state. "I do not hate you, Tony."

"You sure?" he asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "'Cause it sure seemed like it."

"You hurt me, Tony," she said, putting more feeling into the statement than she would, were he sober. Even if Tony did not remember any of this in the morning, at least she would have the comfort of having expressed what she wanted to say. "I felt betrayed."

Tony sighed, falling back onto the bed and covering his face with his hand.

"Never meant to hurt you," he mumbled, his voice muffled. "Jus' trying to help."

Her hand went to her neck, rubbing the star between her thumb and index finger. "I know," she replied, looking away.

Tony pulled his hand away from his face, his eyes going to her hand. Ziva watched as his eyes glazed over and focused before a dawning recognition appeared on his face.

"You wore it!" he said excitedly, sitting himself up. The sudden movement threw his inebriated body off balance, causing him to fall forward toward Ziva.

Rather than bump heads with him, Ziva fell back, bracing herself with her elbow on the bed. Tony continued to fall, bringing him flush with Ziva, his face mere inches from her own.

"I'm really glad you wore it, Ziva," he whispered, the scent of cheap liquor wafting over her so strongly that she felt it might intoxicate her as well, if the heat from Tony's body didn't do it first.

She didn't reply, couldn't, the sudden rush of adrenaline and warmth taking away her words. Her gaze locked onto Tony's face, noting his unshaven stubble, the part of his lips as his breathed, the lean muscle in his cheek that flexed as he shifted.

"You're real pretty this close," he said, his eyes focused somewhere between her Cupid's bow and her upper lip. "Extra pretty."

She lay still, watching with wide eyes as his lips gently parted and closed, his warm breath tickling her cheek before his eyelids fluttered closed. Hers stayed open even as his lips pressed forward, the gentle pressure prompting her to respond without any awareness from her functioning brain.

Her toes curled, hands clutching the material of the blanket as her eyes slowly shut. Tony's kisses were gentle, his lips a smooth warmth than sent shivers down her spine. They fumbled slightly as he suckled her lower lip, his drunken sloppiness forgotten as her back arched underneath him, years of tension between them and weeks of her pain melting away. She knew it was wrong--they should be talking, not kissing--but every touch was making it harder for her to care.

"Tony," she panted as he finally broke from her lips, moving to trail kisses down her neck. "We should not. You are drunk."

She wasn't sure that he heard her as his tongue swirled over a particularly sensitive tendon at the base of her neck. She bit back a moan, tilting her head to the side even as she continued, "You will regret this tomorrow."

"Nuh uh," he murmured into her neck.

"Tony…."

"Could ne'er regret this," he said, scraping his teeth gently over her jugular and earning a stifled moan from Ziva. "Wanted you for a long time, Zi…."

Ziva surrendered as his hands slid under her back, his calloused hands meeting her warm skin. Arching upward, she threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling his head upward so she could find his lips once again. He tightened his grip, pulling their bodies closer together and sealing their fate.

Even as the flutter in her stomach told her it was a bad idea, she lifted herself up as he struggled to remove her shirt, settling back down as his hands roamed her body. She pushed the doubt away from her mind as he teased her with his fingers and tongue, making sure that he could her as she spoke her last coherent sentence.

"If you forget this, I will kill you, Tony."


	13. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer: NCIS does not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended._

_Author's Note: This story WILL be finished before the season 7 premier, come hell or high waters. I'm undecided on if there will be one more long chapter, or if I'll break it up into two. Either way, expect the resolution and rest of the answers soon. :]_

_Guys, this story is so close to 200 reviews, I can smell it. I don't think I spend enough time thanking you guys for how much love you've shown this story, so let me do it now. You are all amazing. The support I've received for this story is beyond humbling. I love you guys!_

_Now stop reading ANs and get to the chapter!  
_

* * *

Her body was warm and damp with sweat when she woke, despite the lack of body heat she expected to be wrapped around her. She sat up, pushing the heated covers off and making no attempt to cover her body. Her eyes quickly scanned the room, finding Tony perched at the end of the bed his hair still wet from the shower.

"What time is it?" she asked, frowning at the harsh sunlight that beat down through the windows.

"Almost noon," Tony replied without looking at her.

"Oh," Ziva replied, blinking. Did she really sleep that long? She looked to Tony, who had his eyes closed as his fingers rubbed at his temples. "How are you feeling?"

"Like the seven dwarves are mining inside my skull," he replied before lifting his head to look blearily at her. "Your snoring really didn't help. You should get that looked at, you know. It can't be healthy."

"I do not snore."

Tony raised his eyebrows at her. "My raging headache begs to differ."

"Your raging headache is a result of your body trying to process an excess of liquor," Ziva returned.

Tony scowled, rubbing at his temple. "But you still snore."

"David has said nothing about it."

His scowl deepened. "Right," he said, scrunching his forehead. "_David _didn't say anything about it, so it can't be true."

"What is it with you three?!" she asked. "All the time--you, Gibbs, David. The animosity is completely unnecessary."

"Are you kidding me, Ziva?" Tony asked, lifting his face to look at her. "You're naked in my hotel room and you wonder why I'd rather not talk about the guy you've been shacking up with for the past few weeks?"

For the first time, Ziva felt uncomfortable with her state of undress. She stared stone-faced at Tony for a minute before slipping out of bed, finding her bra strung up by it's strap on the top of the lamp shade. It took longer to find her panties where they fell behind the dresser. Tony reached into his bag, handing her a grey NCIS t-shirt when she couldn't find her own top, assuming it to be stuck behind some other piece of furniture.

"Thank you," she said, slipping on the cotton top and pulling the golden chain up through the neckline.

Tony's eyes rested on the piece of jewelry before shifting back up to her face, prompting her to sit. Sighing, she lowered herself to the bed next to him.

"Do you remember last night?" she asked, folding her hands in her lap.

Tony's head turned to look at her, but she didn't meet his eye. "Of course."

"Do you regret it?" She could feel his eyes boring into her.

"No," he replied, without hesitation. "Do you?"

She turned to him, searching his hazel eyes for answers to questions she didn't know how to word.

"No, I do not," she replied. "But it does not mean everything is peachy clean, either."

"Keen."

"What?"

"…It's 'peachy keen.'

Ziva frowned. "Why would it not be 'clean?' That is another one of your idiomatic sayings, yes? Clean slate, peachy clean."

Tony barked out a laugh before shaking his head wryly. "No, Ziva. They're not the same."

"Yes, well, you understood my meaning just the same."

"Yeah…."

The air felt stagnant, dry. For someone who grew up in the desert, Ziva felt that the small room was stiflingly warm. Tony dropped his head back into his hands, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. Ziva shifted on the bed, her movement breaking the silence between them.

"You remember," Tony said suddenly, flipping his head to look at her before groaning at the sudden movement.

"Do not move so quickly," she warned him. "And yes. I do."

"Everything?"

"I remember that you killed Michael."

She didn't answer his actual question, but it covered the unspoken one hanging over them.

"I did," Tony replied evenly, his face falling blank.

Ziva paused, unsure whether his lack of emotion in the response angered her or made her grateful. When she didn't promptly respond, Tony sighed, dropping his head back down.

Slowly, with movements much less steady than she would have liked, her hand crept across the space between them, gently resting the pads of her fingers against the back of his knuckles.

"I forgive you."

Tony's head turned to her ever so slightly, just daring to peek at her out of the corner of his eye.

"You do?" His fingers curled under hers.

Ziva nodded. "Yes."

"Care to elaborate on that?" Tony asked, the slightest hint of his usual dry humor lacing his voice.

"What is there to elaborate on?" Ziva asked. "I forgive you. I do not hold it against you for doing what you had to do."

Tony stood, turning away from her as his fingers slid away. "Yeah," she heard him mutter under his breath. "All's forgiven, isn't that just perfect?"

Ziva frowned, pulling her hand back from the empty spot on the bed. "I do not understand," she said, frowning. "I thought that is what you wanted?"

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It is, Ziva," he said, frustration in his voice. "It's just…."

Crossing her arms, Ziva stood, narrowing her eyes at Tony. "It's just what, Tony?"

He turned to face her, his eyes sweeping her face. "Oh, do not even give me that look, Ziva!"

Ziva gaped at him. "_What_ look?!"

"That one!" Tony exclaimed, gesturing his hand at her face. "The one where you use your Mossad ninja skills to make it seem like you don't care, like you _know_ when you have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about!"

"Oh, and how exactly am I supposed to look at you?!" Ziva asked. She dropped her arms, taking a step closer to bring them face to face. "Do you want to know what I _know_, Tony? I know that two days ago, you were begging me to forgive you. I know that I grant you forgiveness and you get angry. You are using your anger to avoid talking about what you are _feeling_, because whatever this is, whatever it was last night, is too hard for your childish mind to process!"

"_My_ mind?!" Tony asked, narrowing his eyes at her. "You have NO IDEA what is going on in _my mind_!"

"Then please, feel free to explain, Tony, because from where I stand, you are being a coward!"

"How dare you?!" Tony snapped, hissing at her. "Who do you think you are, Ziva? A coward?! Let me tell you about how much of a 'coward' I am!"

He stepped forward, bringing them so close that he had to look down to see her properly.

"When every piece of evidence we had said that you were guilty," Tony began, his voice quieter but with no less emotion, "I broke the chain of command to come talk to you, to give you a chance to explain so I could help you if you needed it. When I showed up, I was attacked by a Mossad assassin and managed to win, only because he was so sloshed that he couldn't even see straight!"

Ziva stood stoic in the face of his rant, watching him with glaring eyes.

"I went to Tel Aviv and faced the Director of Mossad, _your father_, to defend that killing his agent was justified," he continued. "I lay on the cement under your gunpoint! And when Gibbs left you on the tarmac, I had to face the idea that I may never again see the woman whom I'd just put my career on the line for."

His next step brought their bodies into contact, his torso against hers, an angry, charged current running between them. The thin fabric of his tee shirt provided no insulation against the heat of his body.

"When I got back to the States," he said, whispering harshly, "I didn't hear a peep of news for weeks, not knowing if you were dead or alive. Not knowing if you were ever going to come to your senses and come home."

His hands came up to grip her shoulders, nearly shaking her. Ziva gritted her teeth, fighting the impulsive to forcibly remove his hands from her person.

"And then, cowardly as I am, I traveled halfway around the world, on the off chance that our intel was wrong, and you hadn't been killed. Only to find out that everything that had been eating at me for weeks didn't bother you at all. Because you couldn't remember any of it. And that you'd conveniently found your way into another mans arms.

"And still I didn't give up, Ziva," he said, his face falling from fury to an open look she couldn't quite place. "I may be a lot of things, but I sure as hell am no coward."

Ziva stood before him, her skin tingling where they touched. Her eyes searched his, his standing defiant yet vulnerable, hers looking for the answer to the one question he neglected to address.

"Why, Tony?" she asked, her voice matching his quiet intensity. "If you want to prove to me that you are not a coward, tell me why."

His hands dropped from her shoulders, a harsh laugh escaping from his throat. The sound of it made Ziva cringe.

"Can't you see it, Ziva?" he said, the words tight and strained in his throat. "All the teasing banter, the angry fights? Don't tell me you can't feel it, too."

"Feel what?" she asked, her lips barely forming the words. She knew what he was talking about--the magnetic pull whenever they teased each other, that moving just that one extra inch would be so rewarding despite the consequences. The burning jealously that she felt when he was with another woman, when he fell in love with Jeanne. But she couldn't admit it, she couldn't say it first. This time, she was being the coward. She needed him to take the next step.

He stood before her, his posture defeated and vulnerable, his eyes glassy as they peered into hers.

"Feel how much I care about you," he whispered in reply, no trace of malice left in his words.

Ziva took a step forward, bringing their bodies back within an inch of touching. The empty space felt like a thunderstorm between them, zapping their flesh with a million lightning bolts of energy.

"You are infuriating," she replied simply.

Tony snorted, drawing in a shaky breath as the tension visibly left his body. She barely had a second to catch the spark in his eyes before his hand was wrapped in her messy curls, pulling her lips up to his.

She didn't hesitate, her body sagging into his as they kissed. Her heart fluttered when his tongue traced her cupid's bow, wondering for a moment if she would actually lose consciousness as heat flooded her extremities, leaving her head a floating mess of sensation.

His hands moved from her head, one wrapping around her throat and the other resting at the small of her body to pull them closer together. She held his head, her thumbs feeling the flutter of his pulse in his temples.

A part of her mind heard the opening door, but she quickly pushed away the thought, her subconscious repressing the idea in favor of the continued gratification of finally resolving the tension that had been building over the last four years.

The clearing throat did snake it's way into their awareness, however, Tony pulled away quickly as Ziva stepped back with a bit more composure.

"B-Boss!" Tony said. "I, uh…. This isn't what it looks like, boss."

Gibbs just stared at them. Ziva turned to him, smirking as she quirked her eyebrow.

"It isn't, Tony?" she asked, a warning laced in her tone.

"Okay, maybe it is," he replied quickly. "I'd say I'm sorry for breaking rule number twelve, boss, but I'm, uh… not."

Ziva snorted quietly as Gibbs narrowed his eyes, Tony tensed beside her.

They both waited for Gibbs to speak, knowing that his approval could make or break the delicate tether holding them together.

"I was under the impression that Ziva David was dead," Gibbs said finally, his face betraying no emotion whatsoever. "There's no rule about playing grab-ass with a dead woman, but you might want to make an appointment to talk to Duck."

Ziva smiled. She could feel Tony relaxing as he let out a long breath, a grin slowly spreading its way onto his face.

It wasn't conventional in terms of approval, but it was enough. And coming from Gibbs, it was more than they could have expected.

"It's good to see you smiling, Ziver," Gibbs said, his voice gentler this time as he stared at her with that fatherly look in his eyes.

She nodded as Tony's hand came to rest on her lower back. She leaned toward him, the easy movement seeming to cement whatever it was blooming between them.

Gibbs watched the interaction, his eyes narrowing slightly before he beckoned them forward. Glancing at Tony, Ziva began to step forward. When they reached Gibbs, the older man watched them before his hands came up, cuffing both of them firmly on the back of the head.

"Thank you, boss," Tony replied.

"Always the same, Gibbs," Ziva replied at the same time, smirking at him.

Gibbs nodded to both of their statements, turning to walk out of Tony's hotel room.

"Oh, and Ziva?" he said on his way out.

"Yes?" she called out to his retreating form.

"Put some damn pants on!"


	14. Chapter 14

_Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS. I only borrow these characters to fulfill my obsessive tendencies._

_Author's Note: So, I've officially got less than 16 hours to sleep, attend 4 hours of classes, type a 5 page paper and write the last chapter of this story. _

_Caffeine, ftw._

_And I might need some serious reviews to get the motivation to make my deadline. lol_

_ONE MORE CHAPTER, GUYS. I'm so excited/happy/relieved/sad/anxious to see this story finish. I can't tell you how amazingly humbling it is to get your reviews and support every chapter. This entire thing would not be worth it if it weren't for you._

_Resolution time? We'll see....  
_

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By the time she left Tony's hotel room, Ziva was sore and not in the gratifying way. Her calf muscles were strained; the crook of her elbow burned when she moved her arm. Maybe Tony had been right when he said her 'ninja skills' had no place in the bedroom, but then again, he hadn't been complaining at the time.

And it was entirely his fault that she had to leave wearing his NCIS shirt, as her own had a neckline too low to cover the multitude of bruises and bite marks he'd left on her chest.

She wouldn't have left at all if it wasn't for Gibbs' second interruption, telling them that they were headed back to the States in the morning and Ziva had better be ready to leave if she was planning to go with them. There wasn't any need for a conversation on the topic. Ziva knew she was leaving the moment Gibbs told her it was an option.

She just had some unfinished business to attend to first.

David wasn't at the apartment when she arrived. Ziva assumed he was at work and she couldn't contain the small sigh of relief that escaped her in that moment. She took the small black duffle that Tony had given her into the guest bedroom. Opening the dresser, she picked out a suitable button up, removing the shirt she was wearing and slipping into the other.

She considered leaving the clothes that David had bought her, but decided not to add insult to injury. Her mind made up, she carefully placed them in the bag and waited for the sound of the front door to open.

When it finally did, Ziva had packed and repacked her bag several times. The loaned knife and SIG were placed on David's nightstand, her e-mail address and a small note left in an envelope on the kitchen counter.

She met David in the living room as he arrived back at the apartment.

"I almost didn't expect to see you again," he admitted as he stepped inside, glancing at her before shutting the door and taking off his coat.

"I would not leave without saying goodbye," Ziva replied.

"But you are leaving." He didn't need to ask.

"Yes." She responded anyway.

She bit the inside of her cheek as David's head bowed, his shoulders drooping.

"I guess I always knew," he admitted, lifting his head to look at her. "From the moment I got that phone call."

Ziva felt small under the weight of his stare. "I am sorry," she began, only to have him wave her off.

"No, you're not," he said, not unkindly. "You have no reason to be sorry. You have thirty years of life to go back to. A few weeks with me could never compete."

Ziva frowned, stepping closer to him, her stomach dropping as he moved away.

"David," she said, the unfamiliar level of emotion in her voice causing him to look up at her. "Do not say such things. You are a wonderful man."

"But I'm not _him_."

Ziva shook her head. "No, you are not," she replied. "You are the one who cared for me when I was injured, who did not look at me with pity as I struggled to perform even the simplest of tasks. For that, I am thankful."

David's eyes shined in the dimly-lit room. "And the rest?"

This time, he didn't pull away as she came closer. Her hand rested on his cheek, cradling his face in her hand.

"You took me in when any other doctor would have let the system do its job," she replied softly. "You cared for me even when I could not offer you anything in return."

David shook his head. "You're wrong, Ziva. You offered me yourself."

She tilted her head. "I did, but you offered me your heart. I will never forget that."

His eyes bored into hers as the silence stretched between them.

"You're more than welcome to stay, Ziva."

"I cannot."

"Yes, you can," he implored her, taking her hand in his. "You can stay and we'll find you work. You wouldn't have to fight anymore, you could leave Mossad behind. We could be happy, Ziva."

It would have been much easier for her to say no if his offer were not so compelling. By returning to D.C., she would have to explain everything to Tony, to NCIS. David would not ask her for anything she didn't want to offer. D.C. meant she might get deported back to Israel, having no identity, no past. David would help her get both.

But Washington also had Gibbs, and Abby, and Ducky and McGee. Washington had Tony.

For once, she knew that the rational choice was the wrong one. She had to risk it all in hope that she would be gaining everything.

"I am so sorry," she whispered, watching David's eyes fill before she had to look away. Her stomach churned with disgust; she couldn't even look him in the eye.

Her hand stung as he dropped it before stepping away from her.

"Then leave, Ziva," he said, his voice thick. "If you're only here to end this, then leave.

"David…. I never meant to hurt you."

His eyes were hardened and dark as they met hers. "But you did. You are."

She bit the inside of her lip to keep it from quivering. Her movements were unsteady as she stepped forward, his eyes challenging as she reached him. Without speaking, she stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his, a quick peck that was filled with all the sorrow and thankfulness she could manage. It was nothing like the romantic kisses they had shared before.

"Thank you," she said, moving back only as far as she needed to in order to speak. "I owe you for everything."

He nodded sharply, looking away as she lowered herself back to the floor. She grabbed her bag with one hand, opening the door with the other.

"Goodbye, David," she said, his back to her. Silence met her response and she allowed the door to close, the clicking of the latch doing all the speaking for him.

She leaned against the wood, guilt burning in her eyes. She wiped away a tear as it slipped over her lower lid. Her hands shook as she shouldered her bag, taking a deep breath and calming herself enough to make the now-familiar route from David's apartment to Tony's hotel room.

Her eyes were dry by the time she arrived, but Tony quickly stood when he caught sight of her, taking her bag and dropping it away on the floor.

"What happened?" he asked, his hands held away from his body as though he wanted to touch her but wasn't sure if he had the permission.

Ziva shook her head, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around Tony. His arms came up to hold her in return as she buried her face in his chest, clutching him around the middle.

"Ziva, you're shaking," he murmured into her hair, pulling her closer and kissing the top of her head.

She didn't speak. A part of her--one that never went through the experiences of Michael's death and the subsequent events--rebelled at the amount of weakness she was showing in front Tony. _That_ Ziva would never allow Tony to see her like this, to grasp him in an effort to hold herself together.

But _this _Ziva… this one _had_ lost the lover who betrayed her, had been tortured and lost her memory before breaking the heart of a great man. That Ziva knew the smartest thing she could was hold on to the man for whom she'd risked it all.

Getting onto an American military plane had been interesting. With no papers and no record of existence, their flight had been delayed nearly two hours while Gibbs went to the embassy to get clearance for Ziva to fly.

She would have been lying if she denied the small knot of tension in her gut during that time.

Once they had been ensconced into the back of the plane, the unanswered questions began to hang heavy in the air.

What happened to her? Did she betray them, or was she the one who had been betrayed? Why would Mossad erase her records? What, exactly, could she remember?Ziva didn't know where to begin.

She sat strapped in next to Tony, whose hand rested casually on her thigh. The contact was comforting, but she did not make it so affectionate as to hold his hand. She was strung too tightly to be romantic.

Clearing her throat, she finally broke the silence. "I am sure you both have questions," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Ask them."

Gibbs stared at her from across the plane, his face unreadable. "Why didn't you come to me, Ziva?"

Tony's hand tightly on her thigh and Ziva let out a breath. Even though she invited the question, she wasn't looking forward to discussing Michael.

"Michael and I had a very complicated relationship," she replied guardedly. "He was my partner at Mossad long before I ever came to NCIS. When he told me he was in D.C. on vacation to see me, I believed him. I should not have."

"There's nothing wrong with believing that your old partner would still have your six," Gibbs said, watching her. "But you knew he had a mission on American soil."

"Yes," Ziva admitted, forcing her eyes not to waver from his. "But I did not know the details. My father purposely ordered Michael to keep them from me, just as he ordered him to stay in D.C."

"Why, Ziva?" Tony asked, his voice much less strained than she expected, given the topic of discussion. "Why would you father order him to stay?"

Ziva looked away. "I was never told for certain, but I was able to figure it out," she said. "My father wanted me back in Israel, back at Mossad. He thought if Michael and I had something, he could convince me to return while carrying out his own mission. Michael was his means to an end."

"Start a relationship?" Tony asked. "Do you mean rekindle one?"

Ziva frowned at him. "What Michael and I had before was not a relationship," she replied. "I told you, it was complicated."

"You guys obviously had something when you went back to Israel, I mean you took a vacation just to go visit him again."

"When Vance terminated my position, I never expected to return to NCIS," she said slowly, narrowing her eyes. "Michael was there for me during that transition."

"So being there for a couple of months was enough for you to withhold information and tackle me down at gunpoint?"

Ziva gaped at him. "Michael was my partner! For years!"

"He wasn't just your partner, Ziva. Partners don't sleep together!"

"Oh, and what about you?!"

"HEY!"

The two of them stopped, their heads flicking to Gibbs, who was now glaring at them from across the plane.

"I'm not spending the next ten hours listening to you two argue about your relationship problems," he growled at them. "Fix it on your own time."

Ziva scowled and looked away as Tony crossed his arms. She knew there was a lot of unresolved issues between her and Tony, but Gibbs was right. They didn't need to be angry with each other before they even got back to America and especially not in such close quarters, under Gibbs' watchful eye.

They sat in silence for some time before Gibbs spoke again.

"Ziva, your father would not have let you leave Israel," he said, watching her.

She nodded. "Yes, I know."

Even though an apology for letting her go would have made her feel better, she knew not to expect one. Gibbs did the only thing he could in an impossible situation. He had nothing to apologize for.

"What happened after we left?" Gibbs' voice was soft, concerned, but still she stiffened in her seat.

"If you don't mind," she said, her voice shakier than she would have liked, "I would like to wait until we are back to tell that story. I would not like to tell it more than once."

Gibbs' nodded and Ziva flinched at the unexpected weight of Tony's hand returning to her thigh. She flicked her gaze to him, seeing the concern in his eyes. This time, she didn't hesitate to slip her hand over his.

The questions ended and Ziva relaxed in her seat. Gibbs soon fell asleep, despite the rough turbulence. Tony's spine straightened every time the plane shook and Ziva traced absentminded circles on his hand in response. Once they reached calmer skies, his muscles began to regain their pliability and his arm made its way around her shoulders, pulling her as close as he could in the cramped seats.

"We've got a lot to work out, you know," he said quietly.

"Yes," she said, letting out a breath.

"Do you think we can do it?"

She lifted her head to look at him.

"If we try," she replied. "And if we speak to one another honestly."

Tony nodded. "Right. I can do that."

The corners of her lips tugged up. "So can I."

The rest of the trip was made in silence, both of them dosing off an irregular intervals. Only Gibbs managed to sleep the entire flight, waking up well-rested when they arrived at Dulles.

Once again, it was thanks to Gibbs that Ziva could get past security. The guard at the Navy Yard had been replaced since Ziva's departure and was none too keen on letting her through without proper documentation. A few well-placed threats and a heated call to the director secured Ziva a visitor's pass and guaranteed her admittance anytime the red-faced officer was working again.

The familiar steel elevator filled Ziva with a sense of nostalgia. She closed her eyes as the car descended, lifting her head and drawing in a breath. Tony caught her hand, squeezing reassuringly as they came to a stop, the doors opening to the bright orange décor of NCIS.

"Oh my, God! Oh my, God, oh my, God!"

Ziva had just a second to brace herself before Abby flung herself into her arms, squeezing the breath out of her. She said a silent prayer of thanks that her ribs were well healed, or else the scientist may have re-fractured them with the force of her hold.

"Ziva, you're alive!" Abby squealed into her ear as Ziva got the chance to bring her own arms around her friend.

"Yes…."

"Oh!" Abby said, pulling away at the sound of Ziva's voice. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," Ziva reassured her. "I am fine, Abby."

She squealed again, pulling her into a hug that was much more welcome this time. "I'm just so happy you're back! I knew you wouldn't betray us, Ziva, I just knew it!"

Ziva nodded stiffly at her words, accepting them while trying not to acknowledge how close to home they seemed to hit.

As soon as Abby backed away, they were able to get properly into the bullpen where McGee sat perched on the edge of his desk, smiling at Ziva.

"Ziva."

She smiled. "McGee."

They watched each other for a moment before McGee stepped forward, pulling her into a embrace. The action said more about their friendship than any words.

Ducky was the last to make his way to Ziva.

"Welcome back, my dear," he said warmly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"It is nice to be back," she replied. She looked around at the familiar faces and noticed for the first time that the knot of tension that had plagued her since she woke up in Egypt was finally gone. She felt safe for the first time in weeks.

"Miss David."

The entire team turned their heads toward the catwalk at the familiar voice.

"Director Vance," Ziva said evenly, meeting his steal gaze.

"I think we have a few things to discuss."

She felt Tony step up behind, Gibbs taking his place at her side as she took a deep breath before answering. "Yes, I believe we do."


	15. Chapter 15

_Disclaimer: NCIS does not belong to me._

_Author's Note: Oh, my God. OH MY GOD. This is the end! And it's MASSIVE!! I MADE MY DEADLINE!!! =D_

_SEASON 7 PREMIER IN 2.5 HOURS. I. AM. STOKED._

_As a writer, I use words every single day, all the time, to explain what's going on inside my head. Finishing this story, with the amount of support it's gotten.... There are no words for how I feel right now._

_Every one of you who has read and/or reviewed this story has made it what it is. I love writing for its own sake, but without an audience, it has no point._

_Thank you so much._

_In the next two days, I'll be editing any silly mistakes through the whole story, particularly this chapter. I haven't slept in over 36 hours and I am sure there are some typos. lol Please forgive them for the time being._

_And the pre-NCIS Ziva story that I have received a ton of great feedback on should be starting in a few weeks. Keep your eyes out. I PROMISE to get at least several updates done on Control first, though, for all of you who have asked and waited patiently.  
_

_Here you go, guys!! Thanks for making this such a rewarding journey._

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Vance's face was as unreadable as ever when they stepped into MTAC. At Gibbs' glare, he granted entrance to Tony and McGee, but drew the line at their forensic scientist and medical examiner.

Ziva worried Abby was going to get herself fired, given the protest she raised at being excluded. It took more than a few reassurances from McGee that she would not be kept out of the loop before she made her way back down to her lab with a scowl on her face.

They took their seats in the front row, Ziva flanked by Tony and Gibbs as Vance stood opposite them. McGee's eyes darted between Tony's and Gibbs' matching scowls before walking around them all and sitting behind them. Ziva almost smiled at his none-too-subtle tactic.

"This is one of the few times I can say I'm glad we received bad Intel," Vance began, removing the toothpick from his mouth and tucking it in his pocket. "It would be a shame to loose an operative of your caliber, Miss David."

Ziva nodded, ignoring the compliment. "I, too, am glad your intelligence was wrong," she replied simply. Intel saying that she was dead was not a good thing for her.

"I am curious, though, as to how you got out of there alive," Vance said, watching her. "From what I'm aware, the entire camp was leveled during the strike. No survivors."

She could feel everyone's eyes on her, but she kept hers forward. "Yes, that is true."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, David, but that means you were gone by the time the strike happened. Care to inform me how that happened?"

"Care to explain just what the _hell_ you're talking about?!" Gibbs growled, his tone demanding response from the both of them.

Vance raised an eyebrow at Ziva. "You didn't fill them in?"

Ziva shook her head. "Not yet," she replied. "It is a story I would only like to tell once."

"Understood," Vance replied, nodding to her before looking to Gibbs and the rest of his team. "When we were in Israel, Director David informed me of a terrorist cell Rivkin had been gathering information on in the Horn of Africa. After reviewing the Intel, I recruited Officer David to go undercover in the area and stake out the location of their camp."

Ziva sat still as the news spread over the others.

"You _what?!_" Gibbs asked, standing to glare at Vance. The director watched him coolly, waiting for Gibbs to make a move. He didn't.

"Undercover?" asked Tony, his tone more contemplative than questioning. McGee drew in a long breath behind them.

"Even if I had gotten on the plane with you," Ziva said to Gibbs, "I would have been leaving for Somalia within the week."

"Why, Ziva?" Tony asked, his voice tense.

She focused forward. "The leader of the camp placed several cells in Israel in the past," she replied with level inflection. "I did what I had to do to ensure his suicide bombers could not ruin any more lives."

Confusion sat heavily in the air before Gibbs finally turned away from Vance to look at her.

"Your sister."

"Yes."

She looked up at him. In that brief second, a mutual understanding passed between them. Gibbs had illegally entered a foreign country, violating countless international laws to exact vengeance on the killer of his wife and daughter; Ziva did the same in pursuit of the man indirectly responsible for Tali's death. It didn't matter if it was her sister, rather than a husband or child. Family was family.

"The end justifies the means," Vance said, reminding them both of prices they paid for their revenge.

"What went wrong?" McGee asked, startling Ziva with the reminder of his presence, though she managed to contain her surprised reaction in favor of clenching her fist.

"I had not been involved in such deep reconnaissance for a long time," Ziva said, her other fist coiling to match the first on her thighs. "My instincts were down and I was not prepared."

"You slipped up," Tony said, both his tone and expression showing a mix between sorrow that she was caught and marvel that wasn't actually infallible and was, in fact, human.

"I made a mistake, yes," she admitted, not looking at him. "I was caught. I am sure you can figure out what happened next."

The room fell silent. They didn't the details spelled out of how she'd been tortured. Their imaginations could fill in the blanks. Ziva had to restrain the urge to ask Tony to borrow his firearm. She didn't need it forever, just until she could procure her own.

"How'd you get out?" Gibbs asked softly, breaking her from her thoughts.

She closed her eyes, breathing in.

_People were screaming and everything hurt. She could feel her heart clinging desperately to its job of beating inside her chest. Her pulse rang out in every part of her body that couple with the smell of blood, churning her stomach as the thundering of footsteps filled her head with its sound._

_Rough hands hauled her up, making her cry out at the sudden jolt of pain. The threat of the unknown was not enough to keep her conscious as her vision tunneled, turning black before she fell limp into the unidentified pair of arms._

_A warm hand on her cheek. The scent of expensive cigars._

_A flash of blue, a glimpse of graying hair._

_Pain that overshadowed the relief of cool water trickling down her throat._

_A familiar face stood over her, brushing a matted piece of hair from her eyes._

"_I am so sorry, my Ziva," he whispered, standing slowly and turning on his heel to walk away._

_Barely more than a rasp escaped her burning throat as she tried to speak. "Papa…."_

A shiver ran down her spine. When Ziva's eyes opened, Gibbs was still waiting for an answer.

"I do not know," she replied.

"You can't remember anything?" Gibbs asked, his stare making it clear that he knew she was lying.

"I was not in the best condition to be observant," she said, snapping at him. She sighed. "There were footsteps, panic. And then nothing, until…."

"Until?" Vance prompted her.

She swallowed thickly. "My father. He brought me to the Somali hospital."

"Your father?" Vance asked. "He brought you himself?"

"Or he met me there," she replied, shifting in her seat. "I doubt he was involved in any actual rescue. That would be too risky."

The Director of Mossad would never be actively involved in infiltrating a terrorist cell known for blowing themselves apart.

"Of course he wasn't," Gibbs said sarcastically. "Why would a father go out on a limb for his last remaining daughter."

She frowned at Gibbs. Yes, he was her father and he certainly had his fair share of faults in that capacity. Yet still…. He had been there.

Choosing not to provoke Gibbs' 'father-bear' tendencies, she looked up at Vance. "I am sorry, that is all I remember." As vital as their conversation was, she was digging her nails into her palms to resist the urge to flee the room.

He nodded at her. "You've done well."

Ziva turned her attention to Tony, who had remained silent far too long for her liking. He sat hunched over, elbows on his knees and a deep crease in his forehead.

"Tony?" The last thing she needed to hear was that he was upset with her, angry that she would leave them to try and find someone who'd wrong her years before.

"Hmm?" he hummed in response, doing nothing to settle her.

"Are you alright?" _Are you angry with me._

He looked up at her. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said flashing her a smile that showed exactly how 'fine' he happened to be.

She felt her stomach drop to the floor and schooled her features blank.

"What I don't understand," Tony continued, completely unaware of her slowly shutting down her emotional responses, "is why the hell Mossad erased your records. I mean, before the op I could understand, if your cover needed to be that deep. So why did the good ol' Director tell Vance you were dead if he knew you weren't?"

Ziva opened her mouth to speak, but never got the chance.

"That's a good question, DiNozzo," Vance replied. "One I'd like the answer to myself."

He nodded to the MTAC technician at the control panels. The young woman typed at the keyboard, powering on the large conference screen.

"Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo," he began, turning to the two men. "You are strictly here as observers if you choose to remain. Should you feel the urge to disobey that order, I suggest you leave immediately."

Ziva frowned in confusion before Vance signaled to the technician again, who brought the feed online and revealing Director Eli David in his familiar Mossad office.

"Shalom, Director Vance," he greeted cordially. "I must say I was surprised to hear from you so soon. Most men would not have the gull to keep me waiting this long."

"We both know I'm not most men," Vance returned. "And shalom to you, too, Eli."

Ziva couldn't tell who was hiding more behind their matching smirks.

"I thought you might like to know that I've found a stray this week," Vance said, his tone so neutral that no one would know he was speaking about a person and not an actual pet. "Thought you might like to know."

Ziva held her breath as her father's eyes narrowed, focusing on her image in his screen before sitting back in his chair. "While it is good to be reassured that my friends are generous, Leon, I do not know how this is of any importance."

Ziva blinked as Gibbs stood, ignoring Vance's order as he stepped forward.

"You bastard!" he spat at the screen, pointing at Ziva. "That's your _daughter_!"

He never even blinked. "My daughter is dead, Agent Gibbs. I do not wish for her memory to be maligned in such a manner."

Gibbs gapped at the screen as Eli turned his attention back to her.

"I hope the issue of your identity can be resolved," he said to her, not indicating that she was anything more than another foreign officer. "The dead should be free to lie in their tombs."

Gibbs opened his mouth to speak again, but Vance furiously waved him off. Ziva paid them little attention as he kept her eyes on the screen, nodding after a moment as her lips pulled up at the corners.

"Of course, Director."

Eli nodded, turning his attention back to Vance.

"I am sure you understand, Director Vance, I have a lot of business to attend to. If we are done here?"

Gibbs took another step forward. "How dare- !"

"I understand completely, Eli," Vance interrupted, stepping in front of Gibbs. "Shalom, my friend."

"Shalom."

Vance's quick wave had the technician cutting off the feed. "Heather, you are free to go."

The young woman departed quickly, sensing the heated atmosphere charging the room.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?!" Gibbs demanded the moment the door closed behind her, stepping directly into Vance's personal space. "You're going to let that bastard deny his own daughter after all the shit he's put her through?!"

"I don't think Ziva has nearly the problem with it as you do, Agent Gibbs," he replied dryly.

The attention was back on her, making her feel like a cornered animal. Once again, she had the distinct urge to grab the nearest weapon and flee.

"You can't be okay with this," Tony said, his face etched with shock.

Ziva licked her lips before responding. "Why not?"

His jaw dropped. "Ziva, he's your father! I mean, come on, I got disowned, but to have your father tell you to your face that you're _dead_…."

"Exactly, Tony," she said, more sharply than she had intended. "Ziva David is dead. The death of the Director's daughter would not be kept secret. Therefore, she no longer has any loyalties to Mossad."

"And any enemies she may have had are reveling in the sweet justice of her death," Gibbs added, eyes narrowed at Vance. "You play a dangerous game, Leon."

"Our jobs are dangerous every day, Gibbs," Vance replied without batting an eye. "Some days more than others."

"It isn't that simple," McGee said, standing from his seat, slightly ashen-faced. "I mean, yeah, Ziva doesn't have the threat of returning to Israel hanging over her head anymore, but she doesn't have the right to stay in America either."

"I've got a friend who owes me a favor in Homeland Security," Vance replied, tilting his head to Ziva. "You got any ideas for a name, Agent?"

Ziva blinked at him.

"Agent?"

"It might not have the same ring as 'Mossad Liason Officer,' but I find it seems to get the point across just the same."

"That better be an agent assigned to my team," Gibbs warned, though his voice was much less threatening than it had been before.

Ziva's chest felt remarkably lighter.

"What about 'Lisa?'" Tony suggested with a smirk.

The joke and the familiar sound of Gibbs' hand colliding with Tony's head made her smile.

"You know," McGee suggested, glaring at Tony. "You could always do something like the boss."

Gibbs turn to stare at his younger Agent.

"Not have people call you 'boss,' of course," he backtracked quickly. "But I meant with the multiple names. No one calls you 'Leroy,' Boss."

Gibbs raised his eyebrow. "Yeah, there's a reason for that, McGee. They're not that stupid."

McGee's eyes widened. "Uh, right… Boss."

Gibbs smirked and shook his head.

"McGee does have a point," Vance said. "David is a common enough last name and would save us all a lot of confusion."

"Ziva could always be your new middle name," Tony added. "Not that I ever knew your real one. But then we could still call you Ziva, 'cause I really don't think I could change that now."

Ziva smirked. She had to agree; there was no way she could picture Tony calling her something else, especially after finding out how gratifying it was to hear him moan it in the throws of pleasure.

"So choose a first name, Agent David," Vance prompted.

She blinked. Just… pick a name?

"Talaria," she said suddenly, nearly speaking before she finished the thought.

"Talaria?" McGee questions, scrunching his nose. "Like the winged Greek sandals? Well, you are agile, and supposedly they helped kill Medusa…."

He trailed off and Ziva shifted her attention, finding Gibbs giving her an odd look.

"Very fitting," he said. She nodded to him, the significance of the name not lost on anyone, except apparently McGee.

Tony's hand rested on the small of her back as he came up beside her. "This better be like the boss," he said, trying to shake off the heavy burden of the past few weeks in order to truly smile. "The IRS can call you whatever you'd like, but you're still Ziva."

Ziva rolled her eyes at him.

"Well, Agent David," Vance interrupted. "It might take a few days to get some documentation, but I'll have your e-mail you the proper forms within the hour. Starting filling out the paperwork as soon as possible. You've got a lot to catch up on."

Ziva's small smile came easy. "Thank you, Director."

"It's good to have you back, David."

By the time Ziva got her identification five days later, she was about ready to use Tony's own weapon to blow his head off.

"Tony!" she snapped, looking up from her recently reacquired NCIS desk as another spitball landed on her lap.

"What, Zee-vah?" he complained, lulling his head back. "You know I hate cold cases."

She rolled her eyes at his whine. "Yes, well, some of us have work to do."

"You still haven't finished the employment forms yet."

She scowled. "No. Every time I think I am done, Vance e-mails me another one. Tax forms and work history and background checks. I cannot tell the truth on any of it, so I hardly see the point in the first place."

"What, did you think it was always as easy as getting your orders handed to you in the morning and showing up for work?"

"Honestly? Yes!"

Tony laughed, lobbing another spitball at her and causing her to grind her teeth.

Her eyes flicked up to the computer as the speakers beeped.

One new e-mail.

She bit back a sigh. Another form?

… Vance's e-mail address hadn't suddenly been changed to 'dwatson2,' and no one else had her new NCIS account. She'd stopped all forwarded messages from her old account.

Except one.

She clicked the message open.

_Ziva,_

_I'm not sure why you left me your e-mail address, but I'm glad you did. _

_I just wanted to apologize for the way things ended. I was hurt and I didn't want to understand why you couldn't just stay._

_But I do understand, Ziva. _

_You can thank Kima for smacking some sense into me. She knew that you were spoken for the whole time, even when you couldn't remember it. I can't stand in the way of that kind of connection, and if I'm honest with myself, I don't want to try. You're a special woman, Ziva. You deserve to be happy. If that's not with me, then I have to accept that. I don't want to stand in the way of your happiness._

_Stay safe, Ziva. I hope to hear from you again some day._

_-David_

Ziva read the letter through several times before her brain seemed to catch up with her eyes. She couldn't stop the smile that spread across her lips.

"Hey, what's that for?" Tony asked, looking up at her from his desk.

"Nothing," she replied, still smiling. She closed the e-mail window, folding her hands on her desk. "I am simply thinking."

His face lit up. "About me?"

"Yes, Tony," she replied sarcastically. "About you."

"Well, I completely understand. I _am_ pretty damn hunky."

"You're going to be pretty damn unemployed if you don't get back to work."

Ziva smirked as Gibbs stepped into the bullpen, cuffing Tony on the back of the end.

"Of course, Boss!"

They both went back to their respective paperwork. It was only a matter of minutes before her computer beeped again.

It was from Tony.

_Sooo…. Sweetcheeks._

_Dinner tonight? My place?_

_If you're nice, I'll maybe even offer dessert._

_;]_

Ziva rolled her eyes, putting her hands on the keys to reply.

_Still__ my Little Hairy Butt,_

_I have not had dinner anywhere except your place in a week._

_And if you don't offer dessert, I will simply be forced to take it._

She heard his cough and watched him shift in his chair.

_Well, you know I like a woman who goes after what she wants._

_And for you information, I do not have a hairy butt. Not anymore._

She bit back a smirk.

_A woman who goes after what she wants? And what if I want the new analyst downstairs?_

_It is most definitely still hairy._

The refused to look up at the heat of his stare.

_Harper?? No, you're entirely not allowed to want Harper. Me, yes. Harper, no._

_AND I SHAVED IT! I draw the line if you ask me to wax it. That's a deal breaker._

Ziva couldn't suppress the chuckle that made it's way to the surface.

"That better be one funny work history you're writing, David."

Ziva cleared her throat before picking up her pen. "Of course, Gibbs."

Gibbs' phone rang a few moments later, giving Ziva a chance to type her latest reply to Tony.

_Harper would wax if I asked him to._

She flicked her eyes to Gibbs, making sure he was still on the phone before opening Tony's reply.

_That's because he's afraid of a woman with a weapon. Unlike me._

Ziva's reply was quick.

_Are you saying you're not afraid of me?_

She watched him hasten to correct his error.

_Well, of course I'm a little afraid of you. Who's not afraid of someone who can kill them with a paperclip?_

_I'm just not AFRAID afraid of you. _

_Because I know you're really just a softy on the inside, sweetcheeks._

She looked up, glaring at him for just a second too long after Gibbs' hung up the phone.

"What the hell did I tell you too about keeping it out of the office?!" he asked, scowling at them.

They both smiled, turning back to their paperwork.

"Yes, boss."


End file.
